Introduction

Thursday 23/09

We left after a good break fast for Bari. We drove off the autostrada, and journeyed through small towns, miles of Olive groves, and every town claimed to be the “ Town of Olives” or “Town of Olive Oil”. We spent time in Bari, finding the Information office took quite some time. Bob had spent some time in the city during the War. Bari is famous for being the “Second Pearl Harbour” as in ‘ 43, it was badly bombed by the Germans, destroying a great number of ships. Bob’s memory was a little hazy, probably due to the development of his palate for Italian wine at the time. Finding some one who could speak English was not easy, and Johns pidgin Italian was taxed to the limit. When the information office was found they could help us on most things, but not the British Army Leave centre, which I assume had closed by then!! We had to contend our selves with patrolling the “old town “ by car, which brought back elements of déjà vu to Bob. We left Bari on the coastal road, signed for Moletta and Trani. At Trani we must have taken the wrong road as we found ourselves amongst the vineyards that had displaced the olive groves. The road was narrow and pitted. We eventually found ourselves behind a tractor towing a grape filled trailer that stopped that the booms of a level crossing. A long wait while several trains passed, Bob sampled the grapes, and tried to converse with the farmer. We arrived in Manfredonia and decided to call it a day, it was well past beer time. Hotels were not that obvious, but taking advice from a local, he jumped into his car and led us to a new hotel on a new coastal development. We had a comfortable room with an excellent panorama of the Adriatic. At €75 for a double, B&B we could not complain. We ate in the hotel, a good Italian mixed grill, and local wine in a carafe.
 

Friday 24/09

Friday dawned, and was greeted with a good breakfast, mainly different kinds of bread with various types of jam. We made our way to the main road out of town and headed for the hills and drove away from the coastal plain. More Olive groves and Vineyards lining the main road the SS 17 to Foggia. By- passing the typical villages we came off the SS17 and drove into Foggia. Chaotic traffic in a large town, where the traditional villas gave way to rows of apartments, what seems to have become typical high-density living. Bob was determined to buy postcards, so John made his way through the horrendous traffic, made worse by the Italians inclination towards competitive driving, and being unyielding. John parked illegally, together with the bulk of Foggias population, and some 45 minutes later, Bob returned with his cards after being directed in the right direction by a friendly “Tabacchi” John was fairly pleased to get the air cooling the car once we had started up, and we found our way out of the “centro” to “all directions” with some help from the locals, all in Italian, then on to the main road to Campobasso. Leaving the coastal strip and driving into the mountains we could appreciate how the Allied advance must have been slowed by the Germans holding the high ground.

We eventually arrived in Campobasso, and pleased to get away from the twisting road, where the locals insisted on passing us on blind corners, blind rises, and at any speed as long as it was over the limit. We found a “hypermarketto”, and bought a bottle of Italian Brandy at about £5 a bottle. Bob found an English speaking assistant and she gave us the names of a couple of hotels. We found the first the “Roxy” after about half an hour of battling our way in the town traffic. We decided on getting a quote from the second. Called our activities to a halt and had lunch in a local bar, just out of the main area where parking was easier. The two sandwiches and the drinks came to the same as a pint in an English local. Finding the Hotel St Georgio tested us to the full, and when we eventually found it, the prices were in the expense account league, so back to the Roxy it was, where we managed some downwards negotiation of the room rate. We were in an attractive part of the town, so walked about, until we found a local bar, where overcome by thirst we had a long glassful of the local brew. Bob bought the previous days “Independent”. By English prices the second glassful was free. The prices in the South are lower than the prices in the Northwest, we established that as we moved towards Rome. Bob particularly enjoyed this stop-over as during the war the British Army had a depot here, and Bob spent a lot of time preparing for the advance on the River Sangro. His major task was trucking Bailey Bridges for the Royal engineers to get the “A echelons” of Tanks and Infantry across. It was most likely the advance of the 78th Division. A good meal in a local restaurant, full of locals with waiting queues lined up outside of the entrance. Bob asked for scampi, which when it arrived, the only similarity with English scampi was that it was a crustacean.

Saturday 25/09

A damp start to the day, which seemed to follow us through the mountains. We left Campobasso in the morning and headed for Cassino. The winding main road was most probably built over or next to the one that Bob drove along in 1943. We climbed up and over the mountains. Spectacular views, and sights of mountain villages unfortunately spoilt by driving rain, and windscreen wipers that were below par made matters worse. Some of the mediaeval hilltop towns were spectacular, despite the rain. Ultimately we dropped down to the vale below the mountains, the rain eased, and then stopped as we followed the signs progressively towards Cassino. We stopped for our customary lunch, and “café Americano “Two for less than the price of one in England (€ 0.68 per cup). Again a busy town, with cars illegally parked in the “Centro” making life difficult as usual. Prepared by our lunch we headed for the mountain, and stopped off for information at the “Tourist I” sign. John parked across a driveway as usual. Bob went in, and emerged with an armful of maps and booklets. We followed the signs to the top.

A curving steep road, but safe with view points en route. We did not stop, but kept going for the summit, where there was ample good parking. We stood at the side looking down into the valley below. I had my binoculars. Bob looked down and ( surprisingly !) saw the River Rapido on the same course as in 1943, he also felt that the railway had not moved much. At the bottom Bob pointed out the area in which he was camped, prior to and after the end of the famous battle. The restored Dominican Monastery towered above us. Once flattened by allied bombs and shells, it sets itself majestically over the town, and awes the tourists. We left the summit and headed downwards to the Polish Cemetery, at the base of Hangman’s Hill, from where the Poles launched their attack against the Germans. Many Poles lie there with a view of the Rock and Building they launched them selves against in an endeavour to oust the occupying Germans. The view from this aspect of the Monastery is most impressive. Downwards we drove to the British and Commonwealth Cemetery. John sought out the South Africans, and L/Cpl B.R Hammond from his Old Regiment the Imperial Light Horse. He paid his compliments, then joined Bob who had started a conversation with some Canadians who were arranging a Veterans visit next year. We also met some Americans who thanked Bob for the role that he played in the quest for freedom from fascism.

We left Cassino and environs on the SS road, winding through the towns. It had started raining again, and after a wrong turn, found a road that would eventually connect with the Autostrada. We decided that we had had enough of cluttered traffic for one day. Immediately off the Autostrada in the new town of Orvieto, we came across three Hotels , side by side. Parched throats told us it was time to stop for the night. We chose one and checked in. A reasonable evening meal, and wine of the house. The beds were comfortable.

Sunday 26/09

We left our hotel after the expected Italian breakfast, by this time we were having with-drawl cravings for an English “Fry-up” and found our way to the Orvieto Military Cemetery surprisingly quickly. Fortunately it was small, but impressive, with a wonderful view of the fortified hill city of Old Orvieto. After standing amongst the graves, looking up to Orvieto, and viewing the surrounding hills, drinking Orvieto wine, will have a new meaning, and will forever, regenerate the memory of this morning. We walked amongst the graves, John paid his respects to the three South African Graves, signed the visitors book, and read the narration of action in the area in the Register. It is tragic to note the ages of the young men, who sacrificed so many years of life for us.

We then drove up the winding road to the summit of the old walled city. Not quite knowing where we were going, we drove on through the gated area, through the mediaeval cobbled streets lined by ancient stone buildings, we drove past the “Doumo” and then down again. The streets were pedestrianised, so we received our fair share of glares, mainly from the throng of tourists, not the locals who were accustomed to car drivers not obeying rules. By the time we reached the parking area below, we realised that we should not have followed that route. However it was fortuitous as it was the only way that Bob could have seen the area, he would not have made the walk.

We stood on the old walls, and admired the panorama that unfolded below, wonderful grape laden Italian hills, and the Military Cemetery amongst the trees below. Viewing over, we followed the road downwards and onto the SS71 en route for Arezzo, through the hills, mountains, and then along the plain. Nothern Italy is that much greener than the South, and cooler. It is difficult to envisage the war that must have raged, the sound an affront to the natural tranquillity, and the scars an assault on the hills. We arrived in Arrezo during the late afternoon, after an unproductive run through town, we found some locals who lead us to a small, spotless and new hotel on the outskirts, not far from the hospital. We struck camp for the night, tongues were parched. At dinner we came across three South African tourists, en route for Florence. After talking across the dining room, we joined them with our carafe, and a long discussion developed.

Monday 27/09

Omelette for breakfast. New heights. We remained in the hotel until the Monday morning rush hour was over. Driving in Italy off-peak is bad enough. Driving upwards to the old walled city built on the heights, we made a few wrong turns and got a little confused in the one way system, but eventually found ourselves in a parking zone near the magnificent “Doumo”. It is huge and dominates the area, which does not have insignificant mediaeval buildings. We entered the silence of the cathedral, The acoustics were superb, a whisper at the alter could be heard from the back pew. Bob made his contribution to the church by making a purchase of bracelets, for the granddaughters, that we have in common, at the shop counter. We left the Doumo and strolled around the top of the city, looking down on the narrow passages between the ancient stone buildings below. We thought of all the history that has paraded through those streets, photographs taken we headed for the road to Florence and the Military Cemetery, that we had been told, would be found by- passing under the autostrada and following the road to Firenze, it would appear on our left. We drove on, no sign of the Cemetery. We then came across a pair of Carbineri, who were engaged in “Speed trapping” using a radar gun, this we considered a rarity, I guess , so did the motorists who were caught. We stopped to ask for directions, “You are almost there”, one said, “ Four hundred meters on your left there is a turn. You can’t miss it”. We left, they were pleased that we did, as there were major pickings in store” We saw the turn as promised, and to the rows of graves we went. There are a lot, too many brave young men lie there. The Indian section was impressive due to the numbers, the Ghurkhas lie with them. John again took his time amongst the South Africans, a young Doctor, Lt. J. Gluckman SAMC, lay there, only 26, he could not have been qualified for long. Bob found himself in conversation with a trio of English people, from Aylesbury. They were on holiday in Tuscany and one of them had a brother lying there, he was killed in 1945. We again signed the visitors book, read part of the epic of the war in Italy in the Register, and drove on.

A slow journey to Florence on the SS road. Lorries aplenty to hold us up, and little scope for overtaking, unless a born Italian. We plodded on, and spent our time with the view of some three tonner’s tailgate, until we realised that we had entered the City. Following the route to the centre, we did not see all that much, and as we had both visited Florence previously, the debate raged as to whether we spent the night there or not. Bob was reading the map, but not of Florence, but of the surrounds, and shouted out “This is where I want to go”. His finger was on Bourg San Lorenzo, in a valley amongst the surrounding mountains. How to get there was the next problem, B.San Lorenzo did not appear on the signs. We turned off, and drove and drove, not quite knowing where we were, at forks in the road there were some lucky guesses. We stopped several times, to ask the way or check the map. We passed the same cyclist about 4 times. Then we saw the sign. We were about to enter the mountain town where Bob had been based towards the end of his “War”. The town itself was very typically Tuscan Italian Mountain. In the centre we came across two of the local housewives, we stopped to ask them if they would suggest an Hotel. ”Not in this town” one said “Ronta is the place to stay, it has three Hotels on the main road”. By this stage John’s Italian was exhausted, and the lady’s English had dried up. “Follow me” she said, and drove us to the road to Ronta, the sign told us that it was 7 Km away.

We found it, amongst the Tuscan foothills. Surrounded by mountains and forests. We drove into the first hotel. Bob went in to enquire, he came out “It is the owner’s day off, so he said that it is closed every Monday”. We went to the second, Bob did not think it was all that good, so to the third we went. A good price for B&B, an evening meal was available from a set menu, the beer was cold, the wine was local, we checked in. We enjoyed one of the better dinners of the tour. There was a coach-load of Dutch tourists, John got talking to them, practicing his “Nederlands”. They soon (from his accent), established that he was South African. “Do you know Sarie Marias?” one asked. “Yes” John replied. All joined in singing this old South African favourite folk song. Into dinner we went. Then to bed in a huge room with a forest view.

Tuesday 28/09

From one of the better dinners (John choose a pasta, a course of tagliatelle with wild mushrooms, Bob had two helpings of Minestrone) to the worst breakfast of them all. A roll, a croissant, jam, and coffee from a machine. A leisurely start, we then wound our way through the mountains until we found the autostrada to Florence. Easy driving, well signposted, we then took the joining motorway to Pisa, and turned off onto the Motorway to Viareggio, where John and Jenny had holidayed in 2003. We pulled into a park on the beachfront promenade at about 11h00. Found a beach bar that John knew, cappuccino. John then walked across to the President Hotel, “four stars”, the concierge recognised him, and John negotiated an “Old Customer’s” price. Bob decided on doing some shopping, and we looked into a Murano glass shop, and emerged with the inevitable parcels, well wrapped.

Wednesday 29/09

Our last day of the visit. The Mediterranean sun shone down, we took life easy, a pleasure not having to drive any further than Pisa, less than 30 Km away. We wandered along the promenade, drank coffee in a beach bar. Viareggio was at the end of the summer season and winding down for the Autumn / Winter recess, only a few late holiday makers were on the beach. A great difference to the summer crowds, only a scattering of beach-umbrellas, and no waiting for tables at the bars.

We took our midmorning farewell, and headed for the airport. Our mission to Bob’s World War two memories and nostalgia complete.