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We broke out of the beachhead on June 3rd and we entered Rome on my 22nd birthday, June 5th 1944.
Before we left we had to fill in all our dugouts. It was during this move, that some of the sappers decided that they had enough of the bell being rung while they had been trying to get some sleep. They buried it in one of the dugouts. On reaching Rome our CO asked where was the bell? After finding the culprits , he made them go back and recover it. Wherever we went from then on the bell came with us. After the war ended it was brought back to Bedford, and each year we had a reunion when it was brought out and displayed. The Anzio Bell as we named it, was handed back with a big ceremony to the people of Anzio on the 11th of June 2004. Today it rests in more or less the exact spot where it was found. Major Reg Norfolk, my second I/C, attended this ceremony but I was unable to be present.

The Company built a floating bridge across the Tiber as the Germans had blown all the bridges in a bid to delay our advance. This was our last action for the time being, the Division being withdrawn for a well-earned rest. Leave parties were quickly organised and so we were able to see the sights of Rome. During this period we had to line up by the roadside, to salute King George the Sixth as he was driven past. The Italian campaign then took a back seat, as on June 6th the invasion of Normandy began, and that captured all the newspaper headlines. One person who did not forget us was Lady Astor, who had to open her big mouth, and called us D-Day Dodgers, enjoying the Italian sun. A remark like that was treated with the contempt it deserved by all those who fought in Italy.

Our rest period over, it was once again back into the fray, this time to try and advance to Florence. The enemy defended every inch of ground, and as Italy is mainly mountains, his tactics made it very difficult for us to progress. We slowly made our way north, passing through Assisi and reaching the outskirts of Florence. The Germans in their wisdom decided not to battle it out for the beautiful city, and so nearly all the art and history was saved from destruction. The enemy did blow all the bridges that crossed the River Arno except for the Ponti Vecchio, and that was wired up ready for destruction, but it was defused and so saved. We moved to the east of Florence, where under observation and heavy shellfire, the company at night managed to throw an 80 foot Bailey Bridge, across the Arno.

We then made our way through Borgo San Lorenzo on a rough track known as the Arrow Route. We entered the small town of Marradi. Once again my silver spoon did its bit. We billeted in a house beside the road and next to the river. Here a bridge was to be built to replace the one destroyed by the enemy. Italian houses in this area were mainly built with the bottom rooms as a half cellar, and instead of windows, iron grills and shutters were used to keep the weather out. The Germans after blowing the bridge, must have taken a bearing off of it and started to shell us. They knew we would be building a replacement bridge. This shelling went on for a very long period and the house we were in was hit by a number of shells. Luckily we were in the basement and escaped any casualties. The artillery gunners who were in the room above were not so lucky. A shell hit the grill and the blast and shrapnel killed and wounded a number of them.

We were pinned down all night and most of the next morning by the Germans accurate shelling, but it eased off enough so that we were able to get outside, and see what damage had been done. Unfortunately we had parked our vehicles on the wrong side of the house and many had holed radiators etc. The white scout armoured car that I was driving had escaped any damage. The Commanding Officer had arrived and asked who was driving the scout car. I had to say me sir. He then ordered me to move the damaged vehicles back to safety. This was easier said than done as we were still being shelled sporadically. Another driver assisted me by hooking the towrope on, and after much swearing and cursing we pulled the vehicles one by one away from the danger area.

The bridge that the enemy destroyed, was replaced with a triple triple Bailey Bridge, constructed under pretty accurate shellfire. It was with good fortune that we had no casualties while the building of it was carried out. The bridge was named Bacon Bridge. There were luckily no casualties with the construction of the bridge . Our Sappers were billeted in a house, a couple of hundred yards to the front of where we drivers suffered such a severe shelling. The German gunners shortened their range and the engineers came under fire. The weather was atrocious with snow and rain. A fire would be lit for warmth and to dry our clothing. The sappers ran out of fuel and one decided to go out and find some wood to burn. He stepped outside just as a shell landed, and was hit by shrapnel and killed.
Leave back to Blighty had been started, the first to go being those whose wives had been playing away. They were given a month鈥檚 leave to try to sort out their problems. Our turn would come later, quite a lot later in my case.

We progressed slowly until we came up against the Gothic Line, another defensive position the enemy had thrown across the Appenines. We were right up in the mountains and came to Monti-Grande. At this height and on a clear day you could see Bologna in the distance. However, clear days were few and far between, as this was November 1944. It rained and snowed nearly all the time. Conditions were bad with mud so deep that only four-wheeled vehicles and mules could be used to bring up supplies. Many a vehicle slid off of the track and had to be hauled out by the REME recovery truck. Nearly always in the process of recovery, the phone lines that had been laid beside the road were torn up. This did not make for good relations between the Royal Signal companies and us. They had to continually repair their communication lines. Streams that were placid one hour were raging torrents the next. We were dug in on the side of the mountain, which was so steep that we had to gouge out a channel through the middle of the dugout to take the water away. We placed a five gallon drum with the ends half cut out. This was positioned so that the water ran under the drum where we lit a fire. We could never get the fire hot enough to give us hot water. Invariably with living in such conditions and being wet all the time, many of us became ill and I was no exception and went down with jaundice, I struggled along for a few days trying not to report sick. The fear being that I would have to leave my brother and the 248 and not be able to join up with them again. I became so ill that I had to report to the medical officer, who gave me a right rollicking for not having reported sick sooner.

I was taken by ambulance back down the Arrow Route, which was a terribly rough ride when you felt so ill. Eventually I arrived back in Florence to be placed in hospital. This was already overcrowded with many soldiers suffering from jaundice. After a few days I was evacuated by air in an American Dakota and flown to Naples. Once again I was admitted into the 36th General Hospital. This was the period of Christmas 1944 and I spent Christmas Day in bed not feeling at all well. Since it was Christmas the strictly no fat rule was relaxed, and I was brought some chicken for dinner. On seeing the meat I had to say no, that is what yellow jaundice does to one.

After a couple of weeks in hospital I had recovered and was discharged. I was sent to a transit camp. The fear of not getting back to the 248 arose. Once again my lucky star shone, or my silver spoon got to work when out for a walk one day, I saw a truck with a white triangle on it (the white triangle being the First Infantry Division sign). After contacting the driver, he informed me that the division was being withdrawn from the line and would be staging in the area of Perugia for rest and recuperation. The Division had certainly lost many personnel fighting its way from Anzio to within nine miles of Bologna. Once again I managed to find the location of the 248 Field Company, and again went to my commanding officer. The first thing he said was Odell you seem to be making a habit of absconding from transit camps. He did arrange for me to rejoin the Company. I was fortunate that I was not on a 252 (Army charge number for any misdemeanours). We spent quite a long period in the Perugia area, but then rumours started going the rounds that we were to be shipped out. We had no idea where, but the Far East campaign was the favourite. Whatever our fate, everyone had gained extra kit during our period of action. This we could not take with us and so reluctantly we had to hand it in. Not everyone did this. Much of this excess kit was flogged off to the Italians and Perugia was called much flogging.

The Division鈥檚 period of activities in Italy was fast coming to a close, and we moved to Taranto where we handed all our transport over to a pool. The Royal Army Service Corps had to move us around, and carry out whatever work we required. Then at last came the order to pack our personal kit and load onto the RASC trucks. We were then transported to the docks in Taranto where we embarked on a troopship, and we finally berthed at Haifa in Palestine (Israel now). The idea of moving to Palestine was to give the Divisions, who had been in action in Italy, a well-earned rest. After a period of time the Division could return to the fray when required. We took over the vehicles that had been used by many different divisions. Then we got down to work again. The 248 Field Coy were employed around Haifa for a time and one particular job comes to mind. We had to build a car park on the top of Mount Carmel and this meant another driver, Reggie Salter, and myself carrying loads of hardcore in our 3 ton trucks up the steep road to build it. This was quite a haul as the trucks had seen better days.

All the camps we moved into were under canvas. They were numbered, ours was camp 508. It was near Netanya not many miles from Tel Aviv. We were given seven day鈥檚 leave in hotels in Tel Aviv. What a contrast to Italy it was. Everywhere was lit up and shops and cafes were all open. At last on May 8th 1945 the war in Europe ended. We celebrated with a parade marching through Tel Aviv. It was too good to last and things started to get nasty when the Hagana and the Stern Gang, who were against the British mandate, started to attack us. They were trying to force us to allow illegal immigrants into Palestine. They kidnapped two sergeants from the 6th Airborne Division and hung them in an olive grove. This meant that no soldiers were allowed out of camp. When it was essential for us to leave we had to be armed.

Time came for us to move on again, we left Palestine travelled across the Sinai Desert and into Egypt. We were billeted in Kitchener鈥檚 barracks, the Army garrison at Moascar. It was from here that my turn for leave to the UK came through. I sailed from Port Said on Christmas Eve 1945 to Toulon in the south of France. Then we travelled across France by train to Dieppe. From Dieppe we went to Newhaven, then on to London and back home to Sandy, Bedfordshire. The journey from Egypt to home took roughly a fortnight.

I spent four lovely weeks at home during which I had a number of embarrassing moments, such as girls greeting me with 鈥淗ello Bob鈥�. I was unable to recognise them as they had become so grown up, while I had been away for three and a half years.

The time came when I had to report to Waterloo Station to return to Egypt. On arriving at the station it was absolute chaos. The Red Caps were doing their best to control hundreds of bolshie soldiers annoyed at having to go back abroad. All of us were bleating like sheep and telling those home based soldiers to come with us and get their knees brown. Eventually order was restored and we arrived at Newhaven. We crossed the channel to Dieppe and went across France again by the Medloc Route to Toulon. We then sailed by troopship to Alexandria. There I found that the First Infantry Division had moved back to Palestine, and the 248 Field Company Royal Engineers, or what was left of the Company had settled in camp 508 not far from Tel Aviv. This meant another awful journey by cattle truck across the Sinai Desert to get back to my company.

On my return to my Company I was called in front of the new Commanding Officer to be asked if I would sign on for a new term of service. I was offered promotion if I would. Having had six years of army service, three and a half of it abroad, with much of it in action, I gave him a very emphatic no. Another point was that the 248 as I knew it was no more, nearly all of my comrades including my brother had been demobbed. In fact my brother was home and out of the army when I arrived home on leave. This for me was a very boring period not doing very much except sunbathing on the beach. Now and again I drove an officer around. The officer asked me once if I would go on parade, to which I suggested we should toss a coin to see whether or not I should. This we did I won the toss and never did another parade. Time slowly went by, and then at the end of June my time for demobilisation came along.

I packed my kit and for the last time I travelled across the Sinai Desert to Alexandria. I embarked on board another troopship to Toulon. I crossed France and I arrived in Dover. I had an overnight stay in Dover Castle then I went to Aldershot. Here I handed my kit in, collected my demob suit and arrived home at the end of July 1946. My length of service being three weeks short of six years, from 1940 to 1946. For a few weeks I had a holiday at home. I soon got fed up with doing nothing, so I went back to working in a garage. I was sent to the BOC School of Welding in Cricklewood, London for a six-week course to learn how to weld. Here I was lucky enough to meet a lovely girl whom I eventually married. It was January 1947 when we met and we were married in November 1948.

Now comes the story of the Nazi Swastika flag and the Afrika Corps armband, which was taken from a German army stores which we captured at Al Batan in North Africa, carried all through the African and Italian campaigns, then out to Palestine. The flag was quite a large one, coloured red with the swastika in the centre. However on returning home from work one day, it came as a shock when my wife told me that she had unpicked the Swastika from the flag and made a blouse out of it. After I came back to earth, and had calmed down, all was forgiven. Who could blame her as clothing was still rationed. We have had fifty-six years of a very happy marriage together. As I still love her very much, the little tiff over the Swastika flag all those years ago, brings back only good memories. My silver spoon was with me all the way right up to now. This brings me to the end of my story.

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