by Mark Zuehlke
AT MIDNIGHT, THE PPCLI was still on the march, “having met little opposition.”35 The battalion pushed through the night “and by 0500 hours next morning had completed a hot, dusty and exhausting march of 22 miles. At dawn they seized the high ground overlooking Modica, a town of 40,000 inhabitants which lies on the floor and slopes of the valley which carried the river of the same name.”36
The PPCLI was not alone in covering significant ground during July 11 and the ensuing night. To 2 CIB’s left, 1 CIB had been on the move, although its battalions had less ground to cover. At 1100 hours, with the “sun at its blazing peak,” the 48th Highlanders marched three miles to Burgio and then awaited further orders. While the troops vied for spots in the shade, brigade and battalion officers sorted out the day’s line of advance and objectives. So quickly had the Italian opposition collapsed that the schedule for progressing inland was outpaced. Lieutenant General Oliver Leese soon arrived at the 48th’s headquarters with a gaggle of war correspondents in tow. He announced that the 51st Highland Division was far ahead of 1 CIB and the Canadians should immediately advance to Rosolini to protect the British division’s exposed left flank. Brigadier Howard Graham put the 48th Highlanders out front with orders to force march the entire way.37
Rosolini was ten miles distant, and the hard pace soon had the “men suffering intensely from the heat.”38 The 48th Highlanders were followed in order by the Royal Canadian Regiment and the Hastings and Prince Edward Regiment—a long snaking line of soldiers raising clouds of dust with their passing that worsened conditions for those farther back. Men covered their mouths with handkerchiefs to ward off the dust. But the steel helmets began to bake their brains, and a handkerchief turned into a bonnet reduced the heat. Draped loosely, the handkerchiefs also served to protect exposed necks from sunburn. So intense was the glaring sun that some men closed their eyes for six steps, blinked them open for a brief, orienting glance, and then shut them again.39
Near their rest position the Hasty Ps had discovered “a lot of fruit—mulberries and peaches, and we were well dug in when the order came to move,” Major Tweedsmuir wrote in his diary. “We started to march, we continued to march, we got on to a large main road, and on and on we went. Water bottles grew empty, feet got sore, and at every halt everyone lay down and got the maximum rest.”40
In the centre of the line, the RCR battalion commander and company commanders marched together, forming a mobile Orders Group that could instantly respond to any enemy threat. Expectations ran high that the brigade would trip an ambush, but as the day progressed, no Italian or German troops were encountered. Only the heat remained—an implacable, unrelenting opponent. At one point, Captain Strome Galloway realized the RCR soldiers were seeing British troops from the 51st Highland Division’s 7th Black Watch emerge like a mirage out of the dust and shimmering heat waves. “They looked lean and hard, and leathery brown cheeks could be seen under the white Sicilian dust. Compared to them we looked raw indeed.” Soon these troops turned at a junction and vanished back into the haze.41
As the afternoon ground on, two carrier troops from the Three Rivers Tank Regiment jockeyed the marching infantry to the side of the road in their rush towards Rosolini. The troopers aboard the Bren carriers were responding to orders from Brigadier Graham to hasten the Canadian advance in order to relieve a 51st Highland Division carrier troop that had accepted Rosolini’s surrender at 1130 hours. Graham had realized that the tankers supporting his infantry had the only viable transport for quick movement. Cracking along at close to their top speed of thirty miles an hour, the carriers under command of Lieutenant R.W. “Pete” Ryckman soon cruised into the village. Half of it had been reduced to a smouldering ruin by naval shelling, but the villagers still turned out to greet the Canadians “with smiles, handshakes and shouts of welcome.”
The British officers said the civilians claimed some three hundred Germans had pulled out shortly before their arrival. A single British soldier stood guard over about 150 Italians lined up alongside their stacked weapons. The village mayor assured Ryckman that he could maintain civil authority.42 By the time the 48th Highlanders broke into Rosolini, with three companies carrying out a textbook assault from different angles of approach, order had been completely restored. No longer needed, Ryckman headed back to where the Three Rivers had established a tank laager and the infantry took over.43 Here the battalion would spend what its commander Lieutenant Colonel Ian Johnston recorded as “a very uncomfortable night... due to the town being on fire in many places coupled with a horrible stench which seemed to pervade everywhere and on top of this it had turned quite cold.”44
The RCR passed through the village after nightfall. Galloway thought it looked like “a City of the Dead. Not a light to be seen, and the stench of putrefying refuse, including human excreta was overpowering. Sweat poured off our bodies as we trudged through the maze of streets.” The battalion moved about three miles beyond and concentrated around a large farmhouse while Lieutenant Colonel Ralph Crowe went by carrier to confer with Brigadier Graham. Having returned from a divisional briefing, Graham reported they were to advance towards Modica and Ragusa—which meant that 2 CIB and his brigade were closing on the same objectives. This was primarily to give the 51st Highland Division room to manoeuvre on the right. Meanwhile, the Seventh U.S. Army’s 45th Division was making good progress on the left and contact with the Americans was expected to occur around Ragusa. The task at hand was to keep the advance cracking.
To that end, the RCR was ordered to immediately renew the advance, but riding on transport. As the RCR had only a small number of vehicles, a squadron of Three Rivers Tank Regiment Shermans was called forth. At 0100 hours on July 12, the battalion mounted up. Crowe was at the head of the column in a Bren carrier, using moonlight to read the map on his lap. The company commanders were crowded into a captured staff car, with Major Billy Pope at the wheel. After such a hot day, the temperature had dropped dramatically. Everyone in the car, except Pope, who had somehow kept a navy parka handy, had gas capes wrapped around their bodies. Pope kept nodding off and had to be prodded awake before he drifted into a ditch. The road snaked crazily across the black countryside, and Galloway expected them to roll into the middle of an ambush at any second. But nothing happened, and shortly after dawn Crowe brought the battalion precisely to its assigned concentration point four miles east of Ragusa. Galloway had never realized Crowe was such a fine map reader. His respect for the man increased.45
SHORTLY AFTER THE RCR jumped off the transport, they discovered part of the battalion was missing. The impromptu departure after midnight had gone unnoticed by thirteen exhausted men, all from the battalion headquarters company. The missing soldiers consisted of a section from the anti-tank platoon and several men from the 3-inch mortar platoon. Lieutenant Sheridan “Sherry” Atkinson was the senior officer in this number. When he and the others awakened to find the battalion gone, they had no idea where it had headed. Curiously, these troops all had Bren carriers to pull or carry their heavy weapons and yet they had been the ones left behind. Nobody could figure it. They just knew it was vital to catch up fast.
Taking directions from a military policeman directing traffic at an intersection, the small group headed up a road. “The further we proceeded,” Atkinson and Lance Sergeant Harold Ghent later wrote, “the more it became apparent that we were in enemy territory as we encountered no Canadian troops, and the countryside was ominously quiet.” They picked up other stragglers—a despatch rider with his motorcycle, a section from another regiment riding on a Bren carrier. Whenever they happened upon civilians, they cautiously sought directions and information. One group of Sicilians warned that the enemy was close by, and soon “a pillar of black smoke just to the right of a ‘T’ intersection” was spotted. The Canadians dismounted and approached on foot. Next to the intersection, a soldier stood by a wall with raised rifle. He fired, and a bullet snapped past Atkinson. The lieutenant’s return fire also missed and the soldier ducked
out of sight. At the side of the road, a three-ton Canadian truck was burning and next to its cab lay a corpse. Realizing they might be in the middle of a friendly fire situation, Atkinson and several men slowly moved forward. They identified the dead soldier as a member of the Seaforth Highlanders just as a machine gun opened up. The men hit the ground and one shouted, “Desert Rats!” Instead of “Kill Italians,” the only reply was another machine gun burst. The men beat a hasty retreat.
Through his binoculars, Atkinson examined a well-fortified position in front of a church at the next intersection. He could see men moving behind the barricade. Retrieving a Bren gun from one of the carriers, Atkinson lay flat behind a stone gate pillar and fired at the position. Next thing, “I felt a strong blast of air close to my face which I found very puzzling. After firing a few more rounds from the Bren gun, I felt a further strong blast, and decided to have another look at the apparent source. This time, I discovered that the enemy had an artillery weapon aimed down the street, over open sights, and the blasts that I had felt were caused by heavy AP [armoured piercing] shells that were being aimed directly at me, and were just missing me by inches! I decided that the odds were in their favour.”
Deciding to meet gun for gun, the Canadians brought up their 6-pounder anti-tank gun. But each time they poked its barrel out to draw a bead on the enemy artillery piece they drew mortar fire, forcing them to pull it back to safety. Stumped, Atkinson was pondering what to do next when a motorcycle roared up behind his position. Atkinson was frantically trying to wave down the driver to prevent his boring right into the enemy kill zone when a machine-gun burst prompted the rider to roll off his motorcycle into a ditch alongside the lieutenant. It took a second before he realized the man on the dirt beside him was 2 CIB’s Brigadier Chris Vokes. Vokes growled that he had been told the road was clear. Worse, Major General Guy Simonds and his headquarters unit were not far behind. He wanted that roadblock eliminated without delay. Could Atkinson’s men wipe out the barrier if they were supported by three self-propelled 25-pounder field guns? Atkinson said he thought so. Vokes handed him his Thompson submachine gun to bolster the group’s firepower, righted the motorcycle, and went hunting for the guns.
In short order a British FOO arrived with a wireless set. He was from the Royal Devon Yeomanry, which had a battery of 25-pounders that had been mechanized by mounting each gun on the chassis of an antiquated Valentine tank. This self-propelled regiment was on loan to the Canadian division because none of its inherent artillery, which was all towed, could match the infantry’s pace of advance. The FOO promised a barrage behind which the thirteen soldiers could close on the blockade. Atkinson split his men into two groups. One, under a sergeant, would attack from the left while Atkinson struck from the right.
Advancing behind the barrage, the two groups closed quickly on the barricade without drawing much fire. As they broached the defences, Atkinson realized the position had been abandoned. The bombardment had set several nearby buildings alight. Knowing the enemy troops could not have gone far, the thirteen Canadians began warily searching the church and houses. When two men went behind one building, a machine gun crackled. Atkinson dashed around the corner to find one of them had shot a turkey dead. From the other side of the church came more gunfire. This time when Atkinson arrived on the scene, he found that the sergeant and his men had killed an Italian, which had prompted the rest of the garrison to surrender. They numbered one officer and seventy-eight other ranks. The Italians had been armed with seven artillery pieces, one anti-tank gun, five machine guns, and several new Fiat trucks bursting with supplies. Atkinson’s group had suffered not a single casualty.
The Canadians were in the process of searching the Italians for hidden weapons when a man wearing a “white uniform, gold epaulets on his shoulders, a chest of medals on his left breast and... a very fancy hat” appeared. Atkinson thought the Italian must be a naval officer but discovered he was in fact the mayor of Modica “and that he wanted to surrender the town to us!” Modica was visible about half a mile to the west. Deciding the opportunity was too good to pass up, Atkinson climbed on his motorcycle and Lance Corporal Verne Mitchell hopped behind. As they motored towards Modica, the immaculately dressed mayor jogged along beside, “holding on to his medals with one hand and his hat with the other. He was a sorry sight and lost all semblance of the dignity of his office.
“The entrance to the town was down a long winding hill with most of the houses on the left side of the road. Many houses had balconies on the second floor, and white surrender sheets had been strung over the rails. The population lined the streets and filled the balconies, cheering and waving at L/Cpl. Mitchell and Lieut. Atkinson as they made their grand entrance with the Mayor still jogging along beside them—now completely exhausted and perspiring heavily.”
In the town square, the two Canadians were confronted by “a large body of Italian troops all lined up in three ranks with their rifles neatly stacked in piles in front of them! Later, when we counted the soldiers they totaled almost 900 ... We were dumbfounded and for a moment almost turned tail, thinking we had been led into an ambush. It readily became apparent, however, that the war was over for them, and that all they wanted was someone to accept their surrender.” Mitchell nervously asked Atkinson what they should do. The lieutenant answered that he was going to bring up the rest of the men and Mitchell should keep the Italians under guard. Aghast at the idea, Mitchell accepted his orders with a lot of mumbling. Atkinson had equally “grave doubts” about this decision but no idea of what else to do. He kicked the motorcycle to life and went to get his tiny occupation force.46
[9]
On Shank’s Mare
HOURS BEFORE THE RCR’s Lieutenant Sherry Atkinson and his gaggle of troops had eliminated the Italian roadblock and then liberated Modica, the FOO travelling with the Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry had also given the town its freedom. Late on the evening of July 11, Royal Canadian Horse Artillery captain George Mitchell, in his Bren carrier, had ranged far ahead of the marching infantry column in search of worthwhile targets for the naval ships offshore. This quest finally brought him to Modica’s southern outskirts. Dismounting from the carrier, Mitchell and a couple of PPCLI men acting as guards for him had cautiously crept a short distance into the town. They met several civilians, who said there were no Germans there and that the town wanted to surrender. Anxious because the place was teeming with Italian troops that seemed to be just milling around and lacking any leadership, the Canadians withdrew to the heights overlooking the town.
Unlike most Sicilian towns, Modica lay in the bottom of a deep gully. When the entire battalion joined Mitchell on the heights at dawn, he and Lieutenant Colonel Bob Lindsay agreed Modica’s poor strategic position made it unlikely the enemy would try defending the town. But because of the large number of Italian troops Mitchell had seen, they called down a short artillery bombardment before sending a strong fighting patrol in that gathered up a “considerable number of prisoners.”1
The situation in Modica was confused by the sheer number of Italian soldiers—all anxious to surrender—and the fact that the PPCLI had lost cohesion by sending in a number of patrols with no means of contacting each other. One battalion support company patrol under Sergeant N.L.G. McGowan entered a building and discovered an Italian general and his headquarters staff inside. They were willing to surrender but insisted it be to another general.2 There not being any Canadian divisional generals in the neighbourhood, the sergeant withdrew and reported their find to battalion headquarters—which concluded the general must be the commander of the 54th Napoli Division.3
With Lindsay intent on getting his battalion marching north towards the next objective, the PPCLI made little effort to round up all these potential prisoners. Instead, Lindsay ordered the battalion to pass through Modica and make for Ragusa, where it was to await motor transport for the next phase of advance. Consequently, the elegantly dressed mayor never managed to formally surrender to
anyone, and the Italian general continued to wait for the arrival of a Canadian general. Later that morning, when sounds of fighting were heard east of the town, the mayor ventured forth and met Atkinson—to whom he was finally able to formally, if not very grandly, surrender Modica. After Atkinson went back for the rest of his men, Lance Corporal Verne Mitchell was left warily eyeing the hundreds of Italian troops standing about. They could turn him into cut bait in a moment, he knew. Mitchell noticed, however, that a few men wore different uniforms than the soldiers and realized these were national paramilitary police—the Carabiniere. Using his limited Italian, he inveigled them into mounting guard on the Italian troops in order to ensure the soldiers did not mix with the civilians and attempt to get lost in the gathering crowd. This was no easy task, as many of the women were wives or girlfriends of the soldiers. These women kept trying to break through the police lines to join their men.
When Atkinson arrived with his eleven men, everything appeared in hand. But he was still worried. The roadblock fight suggested there might still be Italian troops willing to counterattack, and what if all these hundreds in town decided to renege on their surrender? Everywhere he looked were neat stacks of rifles and machine guns. Lance Sergeant Harold Ghent had the solution. Revving up a Bren carrier, he crushed the weapons under its tracks, eliciting frenzied cheers from the citizenry and more than a few from the soldiers. “We had great difficulty rationalizing this strange situation with our known concepts of warfare,” Atkinson and Ghent later related.
Things only got more surreal. At noon, the Canadians were invited to join the Caribiniere at their barracks. After watching carefully to ensure their hosts ate first from the communal serving pot, they tucked into pasta laced with goat’s cheese and washed down with ice-cold lemonade. Lunch finished, Atkinson was approached by a senior ranking Italian army officer. He identified himself as Generale di Brigata Achille d’Havet and, presumably having abandoned his earlier demand for someone of equal rank, offered to surrender to any Canadian with a rank of major or above. Noting that the general was wearing the British Military Cross, which he had received during the Great War from none other than the Duke of Connaught, Atkinson allowed d’Havet the courtesy of retaining his pistol. He then had the man locked up in the Carabiniere’s jail. Lacking a wireless set, Atkinson had no way of rustling up a senior officer on demand. The surrender would just have to wait.
