Wolf on the Mountain (35 page)

‘Roberto Johnson, capitano, Wessex Light Infantry, sir.’

‘Can’t you do any better than that? You could have got that name from anywhere. Okay, you convinced my patrol that you knew a lot about military tactics, but that doesn’t mean you’re a
British
officer. For God’s sake, man, can’t you give me anything else? If you can’t I’m going to have to put you in the guardhouse until I can send you to Military Intelligence in the morning.’

‘Excuse me, sir. I did not understand.’

–

After nine months he is back in prison again, barred into a stable for the night, with men outside who might shoot him if he tries to escape.

Because he does not seem English. For all these months he has feared for his life and freedom because he would not be taken for an Italian by the Germans or their spies, but now his own will not take him for their own. His lost tags, his pistol, his appearance, would not matter if he could speak English, even with a local accent. Surely the accent would quickly go if he was in fluent conversation for a while?

Why can’t he speak English? Yesterday Elvira had spoken in it to him and he had been unable to respond, had known immediately that he had a problem to solve. Last night he had gone away from the camp back to his hide and tried to practise his mother tongue until he had fallen asleep. But when deliverance had come, and the dreams of freedom which had kept him going for so long had at last come true, the words had not been there.

In consequence he had seen something ugly. It was if to these officers and men he was part of a conquered race, just as his friends had been to the Germans. It was as if the Armistice and the last nine months hadn’t happened.

But they had, and he had seen something different in the people around him. Instead of soldiers diffident to their fascist leaders’ war he had seen partisans fierce to protect and liberate their neighbours, to bring about what they saw as a better society. Then there were the people on the farms who had protected him. Would English country folk have risked their lives to shelter foreign prisoners-of-war? Those poor people had a belief in a man’s right to compassion and dignity, whatever his race, that gave them an endurance beyond comprehension. ‘Are we not Christians?’

For months he had had a price on his head which would have made anyone betraying him seem rich. No-one had. Not even, even at the very start, the fascist Giobellinis, Natale, Caterina, Alfonso and Isabella, who would have everything to lose when the Allies came. Isabella! They were good, good people too, good Christians.

Never before had he seen so much loyalty, such commitment to a better future, had he had so many true friends. For two pins he’d knock on his cell door and shout out ‘You’re right. I
am
Roberto DiGiovanni, the carpenter. Can you let me out so I can go back to my friends?’

It would have been impossible to give a realistic account of the Italian winter of 1943 to 1944 behind the German lines without access to numerous first hand accounts by people who were there and contemporary documentary materials.

 
I am particularly grateful to:

-
 
John Woods, Maurice Goddard, Stuart Hood and Toby Graham, all now sadly deceased, who shared with me at length their experiences as prisoners-of-war on the run and their encounters with partisans;

-
 
the Fracasso and Della Rocca families of Popoli, who told me so much about the activities of the Italian resistance and wartime conditions in their town;

-
 
the staff in the Imperial War Museum library, who directed me to many valuable materials, including the Royal Air Force diary of its operations in Italy and contemporary academic medical research on bomb shock;

-
 
the staff at the Public Records Office, who directed me to the records of MI9, the branch of military intelligence responsible for debriefing escaped prisoners when they reached their lines; and

-
 
the Monte San Martino Trust, a charity set up by escaped prisoners to provide educational bursaries to the children and grandchildren of their Italian helpers, for allowing me access to its archive of escapers’ personal memoirs.

The storyline draws heavily on their many anecdotes, but the basic story, the characters and my assumptions on culture shock emanate entirely from my own imagination. Even the name of the village Sannessuno translates as St Nobody.

This eBook is published by

Grosvenor House Publishing Ltd

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www.grosvenorhousepublishing.co.uk

ISBN 978-1-78148-203-2 in mobi and epub format

First published in Great Britain 2007 by WPS

Copyright © Anthony Paul, 2007

The right of Anthony Paul to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This novel is set in a period of documented history. Whilst similar events took place, this is a work of fiction and the characters and incidents in it exist only on its pages and in the author’s imagination.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Cover design by Anthony Paul