(Editor’s note: We found this gem in the Kärntner Landesarchiv. We have been in touch with the family, who have the complete diary, which, they say, is more of a travel diary than a record of what Frank experienced during the war. The original typed manuscript covers almost ten pages; we’ve left the text completely intact, but removed the page numbers, reordered the photos, and used our default font instead of the original fixed-width typerwriter font. As you will see, the quality of the photocopied photos is not brilliant.)
CHAPTER 9.
EVEN WARS END.
The war was now rapidly coming to an end. The Russians were only a few miles from BERLIN and here in ITALY the fall of BOLOGNA was imminent. The rumour got around that the General was wanting his Division in the Line for when the End came – Honour and Glory and all that – but to most of us the longer we stayed here the better and to hell with the General.
We were kept busy whilst waiting for the move north unloading stretcher-cases from a Hospital ship in the harbour. One day, we unloaded three hundred and fifty, all from the Eighth Army Front. Then came the news that BOLOGNA had fallen and “Joe” was only 4 miles from BERLIN!
In camp at this time, suggestions were taken and plans made to celebrate the Armistice when it came. I wasn’t thrilled to know of the long non-stop ‘booze’ that many were planning and was glad that a few at any rate will be thankful to God for deliverance.
We left TARANTO on the 28th April 1945 moving north in convoy up the ADRIATIC coast with the war news continually more heartening day by day. We heard that Mussolini and his mistress had been caught and publicly hanged and every town through which we passed had the flags out. Our arrival at billets above the town of FORLI heralded the news that the enemy in ITALY had signed unconditional surrender. Vast armies in the PO VALLEY had packed in. With their backs to the Alps, “Jerry” had at last surrendered. The thoughts of having to continue that bloody struggle amidst ITALY’s mountains and rivers was now just a horrible memory. The joy that I felt was overwhelming and that night on guard-duty I was not alone as I gave thanks to God. It was a lovely night filled with the song of nightingales and the tranquillity of moonlight and deeply moved as I was, this seemed to me as if Nature herself was rejoicing because strife and bloodshed had ceased.
It was after leaving FORLI as we moved north across the great river PO that we officially heard that the war in Europe had ended. My Happiness was tinged with sadness when I remembered those who’d never return and the sorrow of those at Home who’d hoped and prayed. At the first opportunity I wrote to Mrs. Jack Giles in Freuchie and Mr. and Mrs. Pennington whose son, Gordon, had died at sea. May the future prove they have not died in vain. Amen.
CIVIDALE.
The three or four days we celebrated the Armistice were spent in CIVIDALE. Our billet was a fine school on the outskirts of this pretty little village situated between UDINE and VENICE.
The scene was perfect. A river wound through the place, deep, crystal-clear and chilled by the melted snow from the Alps which stood shining in the warm sunshine to the north. We swam and dived in its rocky depths and it was on its banks that we first met Sonia. She was a beautiful girl, my own age, and the village school-mistress who spoke English well. Both Tom and I fell in love with her and it was her beauty which inspired Tom to pay tribute to her in a well-written, if sentimental pen-portrait. Dante couldn’t have been more romantic about Beatrice, I’m sure!
Sonia’s house on the left.
One day, Tom, George and I had a haircut in the village barber’s shop and Tom took some food to the house of a poor family he knew. In the afternoon we swam again and sun-bathed with three girls, the nicest one, Bruna, pressed our trousers whilst we bathed. In the evening we were invited to Sonia’s home, a lovely old house by the river.
This northern part of ITALY is richly cultivated and the People in general are much cleaner, intelligent and certainly more affluent than in the south.
Even after only four days in CIVIDALE it was very difficult to tear ourselves away, but orders have to be obeyed and we moved still further north into the mountains to TARVISIO situated on the borders of ITALY, AUSTRIA and YUGO-SLAVIA.
Goodbye to ITALY at TARVISIO.
We reached TARVISIO by climbing high above the snow-line, commanding breath-taking views in all directions. Picturesque villages with their quaint timbered cottages of sharp-angled roofs and long overhanging eaves; towering razor-edged peaks too precipitous to hold their perpetual snows; then down through gorgeously wooded slopes smelling of pine to catch glimpses of a lake at our feet coloured all the shades of blue, purple and green. I couldn’t have imagined how perfectly glorious all this is! Our billet was a delightful hunting-chalet and it was here that Tom, with memories of Sonia fresh in his thoughts, wrote his portrait of her.
This hunting-lodge or large chalet in which “A” Company was billeted stood in its own grounds and in the evening we danced in a low-ceilinged barn on the estate with some pleasant farmstead folk. The Battalions were in TARVISIO itself where there is a large German-run hospital. It seemed strange passing German ‘medics’ in the street but they went about their business without a word for anyone but themselves.
I had a lucky break one day when I had to go as ambulance orderly back to H.Q. still in CIVIDALE. We made that magnificent journey back of 80 miles through those awesome and beautiful passes and I was soon with Sonia again for an hour or two. She showed me the remains of what is thought to have been a Roman prison built in the rock beneath the house. But then we had to part again and return to TARVISIO,
High Spirits in Praise of Peace.
We sallied forth one day with our O.C., Captain Thurston as leader on a mountain climbing expedition up the neighbouring peaks of MONTE SANTO DI LUSSARI (6,000 ft) and CROCE DEL POVERELLO. (7,000 ft). From their summits, up to our knees in snow, we could see far into ITALY, YUGO-SLAVIA and AUSTRIA. It was magnificent! Coming down again through the snow and dressed only in a pair of K.D. shorts for it was so warm, the silence of the mountains was shattered by our cries as we threw ourselves bodily on to a steep bank of snow and tobogganed on the seat of our pants into a valley below. My sense of Deliverance out of a ghastly war seemed to culminate that day high above a war-weary world and as I sped crazily down on my backside over the cool sparkling snow, it was with such exuberance that I picked myself up in the valley, full of an inexplicable happiness that only God knows how I felt.
The next day we went into the mountains again, this time to two lakes, one above the other, at 3,000 ft. We shared the jolly company of four Italian girls and swam and went boating on those lovely waters reflecting the beauty around. Two days around TARVISIO I shall never forget.
I received good news from Leslie Warburton that Ronnie Watson, captured at DUNKIRK, was Home again.
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CHAPTER 10.
INTO AUSTRIA.
After only a week in this idyllic spot, we moved on over the frontier into AUSTRIA.
Rugged mountains sank into pine-clad hills. Tyrolean hats, leather tasselled shorts and colourful costumes was the dress of the civilians. After 80 miles in convoy we reached the Carinthian village of WOLFSBERG and billeted in and around the castle.
OCCUPYING AUSTRIA.
WOLFSBERG.
It was in the village of WOLFSBERG in CARINTHIA, that we began duty as Occupation Troops. In the beginning we had orders forbidding fraternizing with the Austrians though this order was largely ignored by us and I made friends with several people here which included ELISABETH, a nursing-sister at the local civilian hospital.
Also in WOLFSBERG was the German P.O.W. camp, Stalag XV111 in which many Allied troops had been incarcerated. Also at this time, hundreds of White Russians and their horses who had fought for the Germans, were passing through WOLFSBERG under guard, on the way back to Russia. Stories about their Fate once they reached the Russian border, were not pleasant, and a few were reported to have committed or attempted to commit suicide. Their horses were commandeered by most of the Regiments in the district and during the victory celebrations, the York & Lancaster Regiment built a five-furlong race-course at their “Sheffield Fair.”
I spent some happy hours in the company of Anna, Sophie and Hermine and their families and climbed the KORALPE, a range of mountains behind WOLFSBERG, with Elisabeth.
And so here in WOLFSBERG began a series of interesting and enjoyable army duties that were to take me over a wide area of Carinthia and Styria. My German conversation became more fluent and I was able to get to know the People and their customs with increasing interest and affection which was to deepen as I knew them better.
In the courtyard of the castle.
STEINDORF.
From WOLFSBERG, “A” Company was sent to this lovely peaceful spot at the head of the OSSIACHERSEE, a large lake fed by warm thermal springs and surrounded by forest-clad mountains. They were idyllic days spent swimming and sailing, bathing and boating with little in the way of any irksome army chore.
Not long after arriving here I was detailed to an M.I. Room at the “Grand Hotel” ANNENHEIM, situated at the foot of the lake. This was a large hotel taken over by the Division as a Rest Camp and Convalescent Depot and staffed by about two hundred men and women. The men were S.P.(ex-P.O.W., now named Surrendered Personnel) and the women, D.P.s (Displaced Persons.) The M.0. attended each morning for a couple of hours and we dressed a few cuts, did a few medical inspections and that was about all. The rest of the day was ours to swim, sail and sunbathe and the nights to dine and dance with plenty of girls of many nationalities. One evening Herr Schmalzl, a blind professional concert-pianist gave a recital in the ball-room, and there began a friendship between us. I listened to him for hours as he played for me in his home by the lake.
Twice from here I visited Elisabeth now working in LIENZ in the EAST TYROL. The first time, we walked up the “Schleinitzalpe” picking wild strawberries, blackcurrants and egg-mushrooms; the second time, climbing more strenuously up the “Laserz” complete with rope and mountain guide.
TYROLEAN INTERLUDE.
It was my second visit to LIENZ, a small town in the EAST TYROL at present recovering from the consequence of being in a strategic position for a German retreat. But apart from its devastation, LIENZ is a pretty little place lying snugly amongst the rugged heights of the AUSTRIAN ALPS and to which my eye and heart were turned that day.
At 17.00 hrs., leaving the river behind, Elisabeth and I started the ascent of the “Laserz” 8,100 ft, in the company of an alpine guide in whose hands we were to trust ourselves in the fastness of that forbidding stronghold. The weather was not promising but did not serve to damp our enthusiasm as we climbed through pine-scented forest and crossed innumerable little streams like silver veins coursing down the steep hillside to be lost in the tangled undergrowth of brambles and fallen trees. Emerging for a moment from the deep green shelter of this pine-wood paradise, we crossed a meadow echoing to the sweet mellow tones of cow-bells hanging from the necks of those contented beasts. The sun burst through a bank of cloud lighting up this tiny valley, forest and meadow alike in a last salute before sinking into obscurity for the night. And with the sunshine, our guide gave a terrific throaty yodel and we laughed at my sudden, startled appearance,
Night on the Mountain.
Darkness was settling like a velvet mask as we arrived, chilled by the cool night air, 6,000 ft above sea-level at the DOLOMITTEN HUETTE where we were to stay the night. These Inns or Mountain Huts are built of pine logs with a guest room, a kitchen and two or three dormitories. We were hungry but it was war-time and appetites could not be wholly satisfied with the good hostess’s meagre rations. A bowl of hot soup and a mug of weak tea was set before and this supplemented our sandwiches to leave our stomachs contented.
It was a jolly company that night sitting round the kitchen table infront of the log-burning stove and although my German was halting, I was able, through Elisabeth’s interpretation to enjoy the cheerfully keen talk of mountains and “climbs” recently conquered by the company of hardened mountaineers gathered there.
Before retiring I peeped out into the night from the dormitory window to see nothing but inky blackness below and the sharp jagged outline of berg above. All was silent except for the screech of owls and the soft rising sound of a distant waterfall from somewhere below. Tired as I was, it was so peaceful that I had to stay awhile at that window before dropping off into a deep sleep at the side of my guide.
It was still dark when I was woken up and as I was washing in the stream outside, a red dawn seared the eastern sky – an ominous sign. With my skin aglow and my faculties sharpened by the cold water, I took in my surroundings aided by the coming day. Then I saw that the Huette was built on the very edge of a deep ravine. Peering over, I made out the waterfall heard the night before, far below, dropping like salt poured from a gigantic funnel. It was beautiful!
At 05.30 hrs., without breakfast, the three of us set out for the next Huette two hours climb away. After half an hour the forest-belt ended abruptly and a notice politely asked us to carry up a log of firewood to the next Huette. Obligingly, we each shouldered a log and struck out on to a boulder-strewn path that wound ever upwards over a bare, rocky river-bed and numbers of streams. The only plant-life were some hardy alpines; the Kohlroslein, Gentian and Almrausch were a few.
A Wet Climb Before Breakfast.
The angry dawn had given way to dull grey clouds which were now bearing down upon us. A few spots of rain was the signal for their attack which made light of our waterproofs and within a few minutes we were soaked. It was too late to look for shelter as we were well above the conifers and not a tree could be seen. Nothing but rocky rivulets and blinding rain before us, wo upwards we toiled still with our logs slung across shoulders as the storm sought to beat us back. So in this manner we climbed until finally, turning the corner of a huge rock the KARLSBADER HUETTE stood perched above us on a rocky bank, three hundred yards away. We were drenched and the storm, seemingly in a last attempt to throw us back, drove across those last few hundred yards like a stinging blanket. Staggering to the foot of the steps, we flung our logs beneath the verandah and stepped under its welcome shelter. It was exactly 07.30 hrs. In the warmth and cosiness of the kitchen we breakfasted on soup, coffee and sandwiches whilst our clothes dried before the huge stove.
If the storm continued it would be too dangerous to attempt the summit. Indeed, to be so near and yet so far after five hours strenuous climbing was a sad blow.
before setting out for the summit of the “Laserz.”
After breakfast, clad only in my pants, I looked through the window for a break in the clouds – and there it was! The rain had stopped and the sun came out lighting up the whole glorious mountain scene, clarifying every object as the beaten clouds scattered like a broken jig-saw puzzle before the blue of the sky.
The KARLSBADER HUETTE stands alone in the bottom of a huge basin formed by the peaks of each group of mountains and within a few yards of the door lay two emerald green lakes reflecting the calm majesty of the range above in utmost detail. To the north-west I saw the far-off snow-strewn GROSS VENEDIGER, one of the highest mountains in the TYROL. Above us, to the north, was our own particular Peak, the LASERZ, standing out jagged like a huge bread-knife against the azure blue sky. There stood our objective appearing nearer than it really was in the rarefied mountain air but still an hour’s stiffest and most difficult climb away.
To the Summit.
Leaving our rucksacks behind, our guide slung 50ft of climbing rope across his shoulder and making our war across the rocky floor of the basin, we started on the final lap to the summit. My excitement grew with each step higher and as the two lakes below shrank to the size of pools, so the first tower of the LASERZ grew nearer. The summit consists of five cone-shaped peaks called towers clustered together in a group. We stood on top of the first tower and half the height we had climbed fell away on the north side in an awful precipice. To the far north my eyes were drawn to the mighty GROSSGLOCKNER, pointed and proud with newly-formed snow mantling her. On either side stretched her neighbouring mountains ringed with fleecy ermine collars of cloud as if paying homage to this queen of the TYROL. I gazed with soul-stirring feeling over all this mighty splendour, the thoracic part of the world’s rugged vertebrae and I was spellbound at the wonderful Handiwork of God lying below and beyond.
The Strength of Guide and Rope.
The remaining four towers of the LASERZ had to be reached by descending this first tower for about 50 ft. to the base of the second one and then climbing again to its summit. This was where both guide and rope came into their own for beginners such as I. The comforting strength and tautness of one, combined with the knowledge, experience and encouragement of the other, made my first real experience of mountaineering easier though nevertheless excitingly nerve-wracking for me. To reach the top of the third tower was matter of lowering oneself down the side of the face for a few feet and stepping across a horrible yawning gap about three and a half feet wide to the adjacent rock on top of which the third tower was reached.
With careful instruction from the guide and much encouragement, Elisabeth and I, in turn, crossed safely and rewarded ourselves by writing our names in the Visitors Book preserved from the weather in a metal box hidden under a stone on the summit. Needless to say, that same “bottomless” gap had to be re-crossed in order to make our way down and up the next tower, number four. It was a similar climb to number three with just another fearful gap to cross and re-cross coming back. Elisabeth was wonderful. Though small in stature, which is a disadvantage for climbing, courage is not lacking in her. As for the guide, his climbing was relaxed and nimble brought about by many years on these his beloved mountains. I admired his unconcern for heights and appreciated his total regard for his companions. Meeting him was an experience and an education.
Back in the KARLSBADER HUETTE, over a bowl of hot soup, I could not help but think of an indefinable feeling that had crept over me up there amongst those magnificent peaks. A feeling that chilled and warmed my blood in turn; something exquisite yet ghastly; something that inspired love yet instilled fear. Perhaps I have too vivid an imagination to make a good mountaineer, but I do know this that in all my travels, never has such scenery been equalled before my eyes as in this, my TYROLEAN Interlude.
Each week a few men were going Home to England on 28 days leave and soon it was to be my turn. But not yet. After a delightful month here at the “Grand Hotel” I received orders to report to the 5 Corps School of Education in DOEBRIACH on the MILLSTAETTERSEE to take a month’s course of Mathematics. I had applied to attend this course many weeks previously, chiefly because of an urge I’d had to improve my mathematics, my weakest subject at school. The environment there was perfect for studying. The Staff was highly competent, polite and sympathetic. We lived and worked together in a clean and comfortable Guest House and a military atmosphere was ruled out with no distinctions between warrant-officers, sergeants and privates. It was whilst I was here that we received the news that the Japanese had surrendered and I thanked God that the world was now at Peace.
The course completed, I returned to my unit in STEINDORF where a few more days were spent enjoying this lovely spot before receiving orders to move.
NEUSTIFT.
We arrived here after travelling all day north-east through CARINTHIA into STYRIA, passing through GRAZ and FELDBACH. We were billeted in the castle where we set up a C.R.S. There were no mountains or lakes here but rolling hills, fields and thick forests. It was in ROHRBERG a few miles away that I came to know Dr. Dub and his family. His son Fritz was soon to marry Elisabeth and I was to spend many happy hours in their company.
HOME AT LAST!
After being in NEUSTIFT for two weeks, I was granted 28 days HOME-LEAVE and joyfully I packed up to set off on the well-organised Overland Route across Europe. Such a feeling that I had when I reached these shores and my Family again after over two and a half years abroad, was one of intense Happiness and Thankfulness to God. A feeling too deep and emotional to be expressed in mere words. It was a wonderful Leave coinciding with my 27th birthday too, and like all holidays, too soon over. But one consolation was the fact that I was returning to a beautiful country and what’s more – a peaceful one.
GRAZ.
The second city of AUSTRIA and Capital of STYRIA.
I rejoined the 184 now billeted in a school on the outskirts of this very pleasant city. There were plenty of amusements to occupy our free time, with dances, canteens, cinemas and the opera. One day there was a football match between B.T.A. (British Troops Austria) and B.A.0.R. (British Army of the Rhine) in the stadium. First class football was seen with four Internationals playing for B.A.0.R. They won 3-1.
I volunteered for work at the Divisional Lumber Camp in the forest a few miles out of town. We sawed logs and loaded them on to lorries. It was hard work which I enjoyed but the food was badly cooked and the billets primitive. So I wasn’t sorry to return to my Unit after a fortnight of that.
It was a much depleted Field Ambulance to which I came back, as officers and men were being steadily sent Home for demobilisation. My turn was not to come yet for a few more months. But after nearly six years from the time of its inception in BOROUGHBRIDGE in January 1940, I finally left the “ration strength” of the 184 Field Ambulance for ever on the 14th December 1945.)
46th Divisional Headquarters, GRAZ.
I was posted to work in an office at Divisional Headquarters in the centre of GRAZ. Cliff Statham was my buddy and together, with Major MacDonald as our “chief,” we were responsible for the Medical Administration of several hospitals for S.P. and D.P. Camps over a wide area of STYRIA. Our Section at Headquarters came under the imposing title of D.A.D.M.S.(S.P. and D.P.) – Deputy Assistant Director of Medical Services (Surrendered Personnel and Displaced Persons.)
It was a good post and an interesting one; the most attractive aspect of it was our billet. Cliff and I shared a room in a beautiful detached house in MARIA TROST, the residential district of GRAZ. Major McDonald lived in a similar house next door and we had a German S.P. batman to cook breakfast and make beds. The good lady next door took in our laundry and we paid her with extra rations etc. Each morning, we had a chauffeur-driven car to take us to the office and two interpreters an Austrian civilian and a German S.P. to help us in our work. It wasn’t all work by any means and Cliff and I managed plenty of days off between us.
Christmas 1945 and Elisabeth and I spent it with Dr. Dub and his family in ROHRBERG. This was another new experience for me. For four days over Christmas, to be completely cut-off from everything British and Military and to be welcomed into the bosom of an Austrian Family, was indeed something to be remembered. It was celebrated in the true Spirit of Christmas and I was thankful for so much. The first Christmas of peace in the world for many years and praying that it might be a lasting one.
My belief was then and still is, that for the ordinary People in all the Lands I’d seen, War is abhorrent. But for a few evil-minded men of power, peace would endure and bloody Wars be but a ghastly memory.
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