Read also  “Arthur Page’s Memorable Walk,” “Una Bella Passeggiata (A Walk in Wartime Italy)—Installment 1,”  “Una Bella Passeggiata (A Walk in Wartime Italy)—Installment 2,” and “Una Bella Passeggiata (A Walk in Wartime Italy)—Installment 3.”

© Michael Page · Permission to share the memoirs of Arthur Page, Una Bella Passeggiata (A Walk in Wartime Italy), has been granted by the family of Arthur Page.

Chapter 15—The Americans Drop In

Since the beginning of January ’44, Allied offensives against the Gustav line had been going on. They halted at Monte Cassino. On January 22nd came the landings at Anzio but 35 miles from Rome. The American commander was overcareful in advancing and a great opportunity was lost. February was spent in making the bridgehead safe for the Allied troops who had landed. On February 15th the monastery at Monte Cassino was bombed and shelled, but the Germans held on. In the fighting for the monastery the 1st German parachute division were heavily engaged and fought tenaciously. When I was recaptured at the Gran Sasso the previous September, the young German who spoke 5th form English had been in that division; I wonder if he survived.

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© Michael Page · Permission to share the memoirs of Arthur Page, Una Bella Passeggiata (A Walk in Wartime Italy), has been granted by the family of Arthur Page.

Read also  “Arthur Page’s Memorable Walk” and “Una Bella Passeggiata (A Walk in Wartime Italy)—Installment 1.”

Chapter 5—Sempre Giu Alle Montagne

From the first moments of being taken prisoner we, who had been expecting imminent death or dreadful wounding, were given a sudden and unexpected reprieve. As one German said to me, “For you the war is over, but I go on and on.” The neutrality of camp life seemed to confirm that, as in 1914–1918, being a POW meant immunity from the perils of war for the duration, that we were meant to return to wife, girlfriend, or mother. As prison became less disagreeable and its monastic nature appeared to distance us from the struggle against Naziism, so we slowly accepted its placid regime and grew less inclined to consider re-entering the fight to rid the world of totalitarian frightfulness. Belsen was not known to us and the Holocaust barely a whisper. Now, at a stroke, we were back in it as though the drive and spirit of our old company commander, despairing of our inertia, had booted us back to duty.

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In March 2015, I published a short post on Camp 59 Survivors about British Sergeant Arthur Page. (See “P.G. 59 Prisoner Arthur Page.”)

Five years later, in December 2020, I received a surprise comment on the post: 

“I am proud to be this man’s son, forever in our thoughts.” 

I was thrilled and wrote immediately to the commenter, Arthur’s son Mike, saying I would very much like to know more about his father.

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