Category Archives: Prisoners—Camp 59

Robert Alvey Newton—Close to Home

The “Golden Book” honors members of the Indiana University community who served in wartime.

I received an unexpected email from Robert Newton of Hillsboro, Oregon, on
June 16, 2008.

He wrote, “My uncle by the same name was in Camp 59.”

In a second note that day, he added, “By the way, my uncle was from Logansport, Indiana, and attended IU before he was drafted and trained at Fort Knox.”

From my office window I can see the the tall limestone gates that mark the main entrance to Indiana University. Just beyond is the “Historic Crescent” group of early IU buildings Robert would have known as a student when he attended here in 1938–40.

During my 30 years at Indiana University I have walked daily over the paths he would have traveled as a student. I am very familiar with buildings where he attended classes.

I’ve learned through University Archives that Robert’s presence here is documented in yearbooks.

I like to imagine the excitement he felt on coming to college—an opportunity few young men and women had in the late ’30s. But, I am saddened to think how Robert’s education was interrupted by war and that he never returned to school and the full life that he might have led.

In the Indiana Memorial Union there is a room called the Memorial Room.

It is a chapel of sorts, with centuries-old stained glass windows from Europe and an elaborately carved wooden mantel that supports a large, open book—the “Golden Book.” The volume contains the names of “sons and daughters of Indiana University” who served in the nation’s wars.

The room is dedicated to “remembering that the cataclysm of war has entered into the lives of many members of this University.”

Last week I asked that the book be turned to the page that bears Robert’s name.

The names around Robert’s are those of other men who were killed in action during WWII—in Normandy, Germany, the Pacific, and other battlefields.

The inscription for Robert reads:

Newton, Robert Alvey
Ex 1944
Logansport
U.S.A. Tank Corps
Killed in Action in Italy, March 9, 1944.

Robert is long gone, and yet here is a reminder that he was once a student—young and hopeful. And here he will ever be remembered as a son of Indiana University.

The Story of Robert Alvey Newton

Tank crew members of the U.S. Army’s 1st Armored Division.
Left to right—Robert A. Newton (Logansport, Indiana), Everett Gregg (California), Lee C. Kaser (Detroit, Michigan), and Philip Caldwell (Tennessee).

Corporal Robert Alvey Newton served as a gunner in the tank corps of the U.S. Army’s 1st Armored Division. He was captured in North Africa during battle with German forces at Sidi Bou Zid on February 15, 1943.

Of the men in the photo above, Everett Gregg was also captured. Lee Kaser was killed instantly when his tank was hit. Phil Caldwell, who was following well behind in a tank destroyer, retreated when the American forces turned back.

Robert A. Newton’s nephew of Hillsboro, Oregon—also named Robert A. Newton by his father in memory of his beloved brother Robert—told me:

“The tank driver that day was Sgt. Gregg, who was ordinarily the tank commander. But he drove when Captain Winkler was in the command tank. The assistant driver was Al Urbanoski. That was why Phil Caldwell was in a tank destroyer and not in the spearhead of the attack.

“My uncle was burned on the face and hands by the same shell that killed Lee Kaser and blinded Winkler in one eye.

“My uncle and the others were rounded up and taken to Sfax, Tunisia. From there, he and many of the wounded were evacuated to a hospital in Bari, Italy. It was actually a converted convent. A month or two later, he was taken by train up the coast to Camp 59. Everett Gregg was sent to a camp in Germany.”

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“Servigliano Calling” Poem #20

This poem, an expression of longing and adoration for “the girl I love the most” by C. G. Hooper-Rogers, is this site’s Valentine’s Day feature.

C. G. Hooper-Rogers wrote two poems and co-authored a third that are recorded in Robert Dickinson’s prison camp journal.

To the Girl I Love the Most

I am a soldier in khaki dressed,
Defending my country from East to West,
And as I lie in defence of a post,
I think of the girl I love the most.

When I was on leave in London’s smoke
I bragged of things to my parent folk,
But least of all was my proud boast,
Of the beautiful girl, I love the most.

When I went abroad to foreign lands,
And trekked for weeks through desert sands,
I braved the sun’s fierce holocaust,
For the sake of that girl I love the most.

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Armie Hill—A Final Chapter

Left: Armie met Eini Seppa on while on leave in Chicago after his return from Europe. The two became engaged and soon after married in Fort Bragg, North Carolina, on August 13, 1944. This is their wedding portrait.

Right: Armie and Eini enjoy a warm day at Spectacle Lake in Phelps, Wisconsin, October 1999. Armie died in April 2000.

On this site I’ve posted most of the war interview material I recorded with my father, Armie Hill. This last account covers the time he spent at the end of the war as a guard at the Port of Embarkation in New York City.

This portion of the interview picks up where “Escape—Armie Hill’s First Account” ends. The recording was done in 1976.

To New York City

After the 30 days I reported to Fort Sheridan. It was like going back into basic training again. I had to fill out all of my papers because they had been lost. And I had to have all my shots again and take some basic training.

As I was trained as an army engineer, they looked for an engineering unit that I could be assigned to. Finally the sergeant in charge said that I would be assigned to Fort Bragg, North Carolina. There I was to report to the 325th Engineer Battalion. They were called the 100th Division. Many of the fellows there hadn’t had much training. A few of them had had overseas training. I was in Company A. When I reported in at the camp it was a Sunday and a lieutenant was in charge.

He asked me, “Which outfit were you with before you went overseas?”

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British Gunner G. Norman Davison’s Memoirs

British gunner George Norman Davison of Sheffield, U.K., was captured in Libya in 1941. He was held at Camp 59 from February 1942 until June 1943, when he was transferred to a camp in northern Italy.

He escaped from that camp at the time of the Italian Armistice and was hidden by local farmers who had links to the resistance.

These Italians arranged passage for him to Switzerland in October 1943.

After the War, Davison wanted to return to Italy to thank those who helped him, but he never did.

Sadly, he died in 1986, just after he had retired to write his memoirs. He never saw his story published, but in 2009 his son, John Davison, succeeded in publishing the book.

The title, In the Prison of His Days, is borrowed from W. H. Auden’s poem, “In Memory of W. B. Yeats”:

“In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountain start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.”

The book may be ordered through Amazon.com.

John’s dedication of the book—in both Italian and English—is as follows:

DEDICA

Questo libro è dedicato alle tante persone che hanno aiutato mio padre e molti altri nel loro tempo troscorso nel nord d’ Africa e in Europa dal 1939 al 1945.

In particolare, è dedicato agli uomini e alle donne che hanno rischiato la loro vita e quella delle loro famiglie solo per la loro gentilizza ed umanità, sensa chiedere nulla in cambrio:-

Giovanni Belazzi: ‘padrone’, farmer, Sforzesca, Vigevano, Milan, Italia;

‘Gigi’ Pistoya, Vigevano, Italia;

Lidia Stoppino, membro di resistenza italiana, Via Carioli, Vigevano, Milan, Italia;

Teresina Andreanna: ‘Rosina’.

DEDICATION

This book is in memory of all the people who helped my father and countless others in North Africa and Europe 1939-1945

In particular, it is dedicated to the following men and women who risked the lives of themselves and their families for no reason other than kindness and humanity, without asking anything in return:-

Giovanni Belazzi: ‘padrone’, farmer, sforzesca, Vigevano, Milan, Italy;

‘Gigi’ Pistoya, Vigevano, Italy;

Lidia Stoppino, Italian Resistance, Via Carioli, Vigevano, Milan, Italy;

Teresina Andreanna: ‘Rosina’.

Simmons’ Address Book—the Americans

Sixty-six American servicemen wrote their names and addresses into Charles Simmons’ 1943 calendar and address book.

Using the on-line U.S. National Archives database of WW II POWs, I found matches for all but three names.

There are two possibilities for Sgt. Ira Powers. It seems to me he is most likely Sgt. Oria Powers in the database.

Within the list below, scans accompany the names and addresses of the three unconfirmed men. When I had difficult interpreting the letters in some names, I guessed until I struck gold or exhausted the possibilities.

Of the 66 Americans, 30 are said to have been “returned to military control, liberated or repatriated” from German-controlled camps north of Italy. Apparently these soldiers had been recaptured after the breakout from Camp 59.

Thirteen Americans are identified as have been recovered from CC 59 Ascoli Picenzo Italy 43-13, which means they were last interned at Camp 59.

For 20 Americans no camp was listed. We know they were held in Camp 59, of course, but whether they were recaptured after the escape is unknown.

Here is the list of Simmons’ 66 comrades:

Erich W. Sobor
104 Bridge Street
Scalp Level, Pennsylvania

(U.S. National Archives on-line POW database indicates Pvt. First Class Erich W. Sobor, Army Infantry, of Pennsylvania, was returned to military control, liberated or repatriate, but no camp was indicated.)

Vic Bianucci
210 West Boyd Avenue
Butler, Pennsylvania

(U.S. National Archives on-line POW database indicates Pvt. Victor L. Bianucci, Army infantry, Pennsylvania, was returned to military control, liberated or repatriated from Stalag 2B Hammerstein (99 work camps in vicinity of Koslin & Stolp) West Prussia 53-17.)

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Charles Simmons’ 1943 Calendar

Turn back the calendar pages for a moment to 1943, when Camp 59 prisoner Charles Simmons marked off each day of the year with an X while waiting for war’s end and liberation.

The calendar was a papal-issued calendar/notebook that Charles received before his transfer to Camp 66 Capua and then to Camp 59 Ascoli Picenzo (in Servigliano).

Seven of the 12 months have notes written beside them.

These notes are:

February 9—START TRIP TO CAMP 66 CA_____ [page is torn so the last word is not legible]
February 15—ARRIVE IN CAPURA CAMP 66 [Camp 66 is in Capua, Italy]
February 28—START TRIP FOR NEW CAMP

March 1—ARRIVE IN NEW HOME CAMP 59

May 9—TUNIS TAKEN BY ALLIES
May 17—209 AMERICANS ARRIVE AT CAMP P.G. 59. NO ONE FROM OUR CO.
May 18—RUMOR THAT THE CONTINENT HAS BEEN INVADED.

July 11—Invasion of Sicily

August 18—Fall of Sicily

September 8—Fall of Italy we received the news on the 9th.
September 14—EVACUATED CAMP 59 WENT TO THE MOUNTAINS TO HIDE OUT.

November 10—MY THREE YEAR ENLISTMENT IS UP. (OH! HAPPY DAY.)

I PREDICT THE WAR WILL BE OVER NOV. 16TH 1943.
SGT. SIMMONS
MAR. 16TH 1943.

These simple notes are evidence that the prisoners were continually receiving news and rumors concerning the progress of the war.

Armie Hill was one of the 209 prisoners who arrived at Camp 59 on May 17.

Sadly, Charles Simmons’ prediction of war’s end on November 16, 1943 was far from accurate!

“Servigliano Calling” Poem #19

What better day than December 31 to post this powerful poem by C.A. Hollis, “Wasted Years,” from “Servigliano Calling”?

The first three stanzas condemn greed, hatred, and human failings as the cause of wasted years.

Then, the final stanza offers a glimmer of hope as “Nations unite, together fight/This useless waste to banish.” These young men’s sacrifice of the best years of their lives will ensure a future “happy and free” for all.

The poem is rich with allegorical figures: Peace weeping, Mars (god of war) ruling supreme, Death reaping human lives, and Hate planting the seeds of enslavement.

Wasted Years

Peace is weeping, progress is sleeping,
Mars is ruling the world.
Death’s scythe is creeping, and steadily reaping,
Since the war flags were unfurled.
We are back upon the track,
That leads to death and tears,
Thrones and tumbling, guns are rumbling,
Now’s the time of wasted years.

Man’s intentions, and inventions
Are enlisted in the course to kill.
Human greed, and ill-famed deed
Has conquered human will.
Lack of trust, in human dust,
T’is the point of all our fears.
Love of sword, before the word,
Is the cause of wasted years.

Wasted cities; —useless pities
Do not upbuild them all anew.
Rape and raving, starvation, craving,
Make this world a hellish brew.
Desolation, pestilation,
Overhead annihilation rears.
Hate planted the seed, of this enslaving weed,
The cause of wasted years.

Nations unite, together fight
This useless waste to banish.
Trust each other, call all brother,
Fears will then all banish.
Use your resources, and all your forces,
To make war disappear.
United you’ll be, happy and free,
And ne’er have a wasted year.

Simmon’s Address Book—the English and Scots

Charles Simmons’ calendar and address book contains the names and addresses of four servicemen from England and two from Scotland.

They are:

Charles C. Stalling
55 Sheaf Gardens
Sheffield 2
England

T. Strapp
9 Amies Street
Battersea, S.W. London
England

Arthur Freestone
96 Forest Road
Lower Edmonton, London N9
England

G. H. Bird
7 Leicester Street
Northwich, Cheshire
England

Ronald Gordon
9 Tannadice Street
Dundee, Angus
Scotland

C. Bruce
142 Montrose Street
Brechin, Angus
Scotland

“Servigliano Calling” Poem #18

Eight poems by Cpl. D. Nevitt were included by Robert Dickinson in his prison camp journal, “Servigliano Calling.”

During the holidays, when we are reminded in song that “there is no place like home” and when we feast and make merry with loved ones, Corporal Nevitt’s poem and the other four others I have posted today have a special poignancy.

These poems reflect love of England, craving for home and family, and optimism that the war would one day end and normal civilian life would resume.

Reflections

Maybe outside the snow has fallen,
And the weather’s really dud,
Or maybe it’s been raining
And it’s inches thick in mud.
You’ve just received your dinner,
And it’s only made you feel,
A little bit more hungry,
And you say, “Roll on next meal”

You think of food in England,
For, nothing else to do
Of the roast beef, lamb and chicken,
And the good old Irish stew.
Then your back starts itching,
Just warning you anew,
That in the shirt you’re wearing,
The lice are standing too.

You think of your own bedroom,
No vermin to be seen,
Of pre-war days in “Blighty”,
And what you might have been.
Again you think, what could be worse
Than a prisoner-of-war
And then you think of Libya;
Of your pals who live no more.

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