Operation HUSKY - July, 1943 in Sicily
From AND NO BIRDS SANG by Farley Mowat
Most books about WW2 contain descriptions of scenes the average reader will never behold in their lifetime. But poignant, powerful scenes, the likes of which would be more familiar to our parents and grandparents, should be a part of our collective memories.
"He slumped in his chair like a hung-over walrus,
but even in the queasy grip of seasickness his presence
still dominated the heaving room."
Above and below are excerpts from AND NO BIRDS SANG by well-respected Canadian writer Farley Mowat (formerly of Port Hope, Ontario). He was aboard the heaving Derbyshire in July, 1943 as the largest armada in history, up to that time, approached the island of Sicily, itself slumbering and unaware of an impending invasion. Official start time of Operation Husky was but hours away.
Upon the Sea: Those Metal Boxes Would Have Swamped
Beyond the ship
the scene was something to behold.
The sky was as harshly bright and clear as ever,
for the sirocco brought no clouds in its train.
The sun streamed down
upon a waste of heaving seas,
foaming white to the horizon.
And the great invasion fleet
- that irresistible weapon -
was in total and almost helpless disarray.
The sky was as harshly bright and clear as ever,
for the sirocco brought no clouds in its train.
The sun streamed down
upon a waste of heaving seas,
foaming white to the horizon.
And the great invasion fleet
- that irresistible weapon -
was in total and almost helpless disarray.
The largest warships were being swept
by breaking seas until they looked like
half-awash submarines. The big troopers
were being staggered by the impact of the
greybeards that broke over their heaving sterns.
Most of the smaller vessels had turned about
and were hove-to, head to the sea and wind,
and some of them - particularly the square-nosed
tank landing craft - were obviously nearing
the limits of their endurance. If the gale had
increased its strength only a little more, many of
those metal boxes would have swamped and sunk.
I thanked my stars I wasn't aboard one of them...
and then remembered that in less than twenty-four
by breaking seas until they looked like
half-awash submarines. The big troopers
were being staggered by the impact of the
greybeards that broke over their heaving sterns.
Most of the smaller vessels had turned about
and were hove-to, head to the sea and wind,
and some of them - particularly the square-nosed
tank landing craft - were obviously nearing
the limits of their endurance. If the gale had
increased its strength only a little more, many of
those metal boxes would have swamped and sunk.
I thanked my stars I wasn't aboard one of them...
and then remembered that in less than twenty-four
hours we were due to be cast into that turmoil
of white waters in tiny assault boats which were
little more than sardine cans and
not much more seaworthy.
of white waters in tiny assault boats which were
little more than sardine cans and
not much more seaworthy.
A British Universal Carrier Mark I comes ashore during the invasion
of Sicily on 10 July 1943. Photo Credit - Histomil.com
of Sicily on 10 July 1943. Photo Credit - Histomil.com
Upon the Ground: He Beckoned Me to Follow
Kennedy, as was his habit
(one that I dreaded and abhorred), decided to go forward and see
for himself what was happening.
He beckoned me to follow.
The storm clouds rolling overhead seemed close
enough to touch, and the land lay under a leaden
obscurity drained of all colour and devoid of shape.
Ankle-deep in sucking mud we plodded across
a patchwork of little fields and vineyards.
The explosions of our own and German shells
pounded hideously inside my skull,
enough to touch, and the land lay under a leaden
obscurity drained of all colour and devoid of shape.
Ankle-deep in sucking mud we plodded across
a patchwork of little fields and vineyards.
The explosions of our own and German shells
pounded hideously inside my skull,
yet Kennedy seemed unaware.
Not once did he dive for cover
or even so much as hunch his shoulders when the
grating scream of an incoming projectile warned
of imminent destruction. Senseless anger boiled up
in the quaking bog within me: You goddamn
pigheaded idiot! I mouthed in silence.
What in hell are you trying to prove?
Rage mounted - and sustained me.
A salvo of medium shells plunging through the
overcast into the mud a few yards to our flank
sent me grovelling. When I raised my head
Kennedy was a dim shape in a dimmed world,
plodding steadily onward. I scrambled to my feet,
shouting aloud now, against the Doomsday roar:
"You crazy bastard!"
or even so much as hunch his shoulders when the
grating scream of an incoming projectile warned
of imminent destruction. Senseless anger boiled up
in the quaking bog within me: You goddamn
pigheaded idiot! I mouthed in silence.
What in hell are you trying to prove?
Rage mounted - and sustained me.
A salvo of medium shells plunging through the
overcast into the mud a few yards to our flank
sent me grovelling. When I raised my head
Kennedy was a dim shape in a dimmed world,
plodding steadily onward. I scrambled to my feet,
shouting aloud now, against the Doomsday roar:
"You crazy bastard!"
But still I followed him.
I could not break the leash.
Please link to Passage: "Working Like Bees", Beach Z, North Africa
Unattributed Photos by GH
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