John F. Welch is taken prisoner at Tobruk

My younger brother, Edgar Aubrey Welsh, and I joined the Kaffrarian Rifles, an Eastern Cape regiment, in June 1940. A year later, after our army training, we sailed for the Middle East. We were both taken prisoner at Tobruk. The Italians shipped us to Brindisi, and interned us in Campo 65 (Gravina), near Bari. In March 1943 we were transferred to Work Camp 146 (Castello d'Agogna) near Mortara, about 80 miles south­west of Milan. Although we had to work very hard for the Italians, conditions were much better. The camp was a large farm, producing wheat, rice and maize, and also had a dairy. On clear days we could see the snow-capped Alps to the north of us.

It was here that I first met Doug Clarke. He was just one of us South Africans and we got on very well together. He was a fine fellow.

  Released from Work Camp 146 by an Italian Royalist

On 9 September, the Italian officer in charge of our camp, a royalist, opened the gates for us just as a German armoured column was seen barrelling down to our farm at full speed. We got out in the nick of time and hid in the bushes, watching the Germans as they roared past. From then on the four of us – Clarke, Charles van Rensburg, my brother Edgar and I – stayed together. I was the spokesman for our group, as I had learned Italian and could speak it fluently. In fact, once we were out, I passed as an Italian on several tricky occasions.

From September 1943 to about mid-November 1944 we remained in the vicinity of the Agogna River. We simply laid low, expecting any day to hear of the end of the war in Italy. We had no idea, of course, that the hostilities in these parts would end only on 2 May 1945.

During the first period we stayed in a reed shelter which we built in a poplar plantation, and got food from a friendly Italian. After we were warned that the Carabinieri knew about us, we moved across the river and lived under a viaduct, over which ran a railway line. We spent the winter of 1943/44 there. A railwayman who lived in a ganger's cottage nearby gave us food. After the winter passed we moved back across the river and stayed and slept out in the open alongside the river and were again supplied with food by a friendly Italian.

However, by November 1944 conditions became impossible. Not only was another winter upon us, but food was getting scarcer' by the day. More importantly, it became much more risky for any Italian to assist us in any way at all. The penalty could easily be death by firing squad. The Nazis were known to burn down whole villages when they couldn't find the culprit or culprits. Instead of the senseless war coming to an end, we had a dreadful feeling that the front line was getting nearer all the time. The Germans were holding "our" piece of Italy in an ever tighter vice-like grip. We knew it was time to clear out.

We first thought of posing as Yugoslavs and escaping by train to Yugoslavia, but we heard that the Germans had caught many of our men who had tried it. So that was out

Our Italian friends suggested we should move further north to a remote corner of the mountains, where we would be safer – and from where we could cross into Switzerland. According to them the border area in question was not patrolled in winter. We were assured that experienced guides would take us along a secret route up to a Contraband runner's pass, with Switzerland on the other side.

  A band of Allies evades develops

Late one afternoon in mid-November we set off on foot, escorted by a partisan, to Lake Orta. An American airman [Sgt. Hoyne] joined our group. We continued walking through the night, rested in a deserted building next morning, and arrived at our destination some time after midday. Until 19 January 1945 our "home" was an isolated building somewhere on the west side of the lake. We had to share our accommodation with about six other partisans. Christmas Day 1944 passed much the same way as any other day – we had absolutely nothing to celebrate it with!

It was here that we met up with other Allied escapers who were to come to Switzerland with us.

We learnt from the five Russians that they had been taken prisoners by the Germans earlier in the war. Their captors had starved them into sub­mission, then forced them to join the German army. When the partisan war of attrition began in Italy, they were sent to help fight the "menace in the mountains". However, our Russians managed to escape from their German masters and, switching sides, attached themselves to a partisan group. Since they were more of a hindrance than a help in the struggle against the oppressors, it seemed best to shove them off into neutral territory.

The three Americans had baled out of their bomber when it was shot down over upper Italy. They got in touch with the Italian underground. But because US airmen were likewise of no real use in the struggle, it was decided to send them into Switzerland along with the Russians.

The rest of us were from the Dominions, and were ex-prisoners of war. We had been nabbed by the,Gerries in the Western Desert.

I must emphasise that we were totally in the hands of the Italian Resistance. They had decided to bring us together at Lake Orta before guiding the lot of us in a single group to the Swiss frontier.

  Band sets off for the Swiss frontier

After breakfast on 19 January our party of 15 –five Russians, four South Africans, three Americans, two New Zealanders and one Australian – set off on foot towards the Swiss frontier. We had three Italian guides. It was the middle of winter and the landscape was white with snow. After walking all day we arrived at a cow byre where we spent the night. There was only a large pot of burnt rice for supper and for breakfast next morning. Two of the three Americans, Lundgren and McGowan, refused to touch it. No wonder they were weaker and hungrier than any of us the next day!

Next morning, 20 January, our party set off on the final stage of our trek to freedom. We had to cross a pedestrian suspension bridge over a short deep cutting, then we scrambled across a tarred highway. The last place we passed in Italy, of which I remember the name, was Cannobio, which we skirted closely. In the Val Cannobina we were joined by another Australian. He made up the 16th man of our party.

Before long we climbed up a steep mountain slope. We were fairly near the top when our guides pointed out a hut which marked the frontier. It was 100-200 yards below the summit [of Mt Gridonej. There was no fence, and I didn't see any border beacons. Their job done, our Italian guides left us and turned back.

Continuing our relatively short uphill trek we reached the final ridge – 50 feet or more high –which was packed with solid ice and was terribly steep. Footholds had been cut into the ice. When we gained the knife-edged crest we could see the path continuing all the way down the other side –the Swiss side – just as our Italian guides had said it would. They had also explained that it would lead down the mountain, into a valley and then to Brissago. They also said we would meet Swiss border guards after about two hours. All their information was spot-on.

After congratulating ourselves on our good fortune, the 16 of us went down into Switzerland, still following the clearly visible path in the snow. Although the sun shone brightly all day, it was bitterly cold.

  Swiss border guards accost ten of the men

We had indeed gone downhill for about two hours and were in the valley of a small stream when I and the rear nine of our party (McGowan, Lundgren, Hoyne, Clarke and the five Russians) were suddenly accosted by two very young German-speaking Swiss border guards, armed with rifles. They cried "Halt!" and cut us off on our right. When they became hostile we started shouting at them in order to warn our comrades lower down. It soon became apparent that only one of those two dimwits could understand at least a little Italian, which of course I spoke fluently.

Luckily, unbeknown to the two soldiers, the other six of our party – Edgar, Charles van Rensburg, the two Australians and two New Zealanders – had gone ahead of us. They progressed all the way down to Brissago unmolested, going in two groups and taking different routes. I would have been with them had I not stayed behind to help Clarke along, who was unwell and needed assistance.

The Swiss soldiers, who had the number 92 on their shoulder straps, insisted we were Italians and told us to go back to Italy – we were not wanted in Switzerland!

At that stage Clarke was pretty well exhausted. I was told later that he was a malarial person and that he may have had an attack on the mountain. I don't know. I helped him as much as I could. Fortunately, he was well clad in civilian clothing –all of us were.

  Swiss guards force the men to turn around and then depart

No amount of arguing availed me. I had been living for 16 months with Italians and I was quite certain that I made the soldier who spoke Italian understand that we were British. They turned us round and started to march us up the hill by the path which we had followed down. Clarke, McGowan and Lundgren were utterly exhausted and hardly able to march at all, so I begged the soldiers to let us continue down the mountain. But they said it was a three-hour march to the nearest village and that they were taking us to their barracks, which were near the path about 11/2 hours further on.

The others went ahead. I don't know how McGowan and Lundgren managed to get along. The two Swiss and I helped Clarke along up a very steep path for a few hundred yards when first one and then the other soldier left us, saying they were going for help. They disappeared and I never saw them again.

  Clarke, Lundgren, and McGowan die on the path

I stayed from half an hour to an hour with Clarke, whom I had helped up, always on the path, to some 50 yards beyond the place where the last soldier had left us. It was getting dark. Then a blizzard hit us. It lasted only a few minutes, but while it raged about us, it whipped up the snow like sand on a beach in a high wind. We were freezing. Clarke was in the last stages of exhaustion, so I went on up the hill to look for help which was absolutely necessary for him.

After 100 yards or so I found Lundgren, totally exhausted, at the side of the path. I found McGowan and one Russian 200 or 300 yards further on. The three of us decided to go down the hill but McGowan could not move. So I stayed with him. The Russian disappeared down the valley by himself. McGowan was in a poor way. He sat there, sucking snow from his frozen fingers. I advised him to stop it, but he said he was hungry and thirsty. Of course, I knew he hadn't eaten any of the burnt rice in the byre the previous day, and we had nothing else. McGowan died about an hour later at a spot a few yards away from the path.

I then started down but had gone only a few paces when I heard someone calling from higher up. I turned and with difficulty crawled up on all fours towards the sound. About 300 yards up I found Hoyne and four Russians in a hut. This was a little before 2300 hours by Hoyne's watch (I did not have a watch of my own).

Hoyne said they had been ordered by one of the two Swiss soldiers to go into the hut and stay there. Tea and food would be brought to them, and they would then be given further orders.

  The remaining six head to Brissago

Next morning, 21 January, we waited until 1130 hours but when nobody appeared the six of us started to go down towards Brissago. We passed the bodies of McGowan, Lundgren and Clarke at the places where I had left them the night before. It was then that I saw Brissago was not far at all –just down the mountain, at the lakeside.

About 10 minutes beyond the spot where those two morons had stopped us, we were met by a Swiss frontier guard who could speak English. He said he had been detailed to look for us. I am sure to this day that his appearance was thanks to the immediate report made by Edgar, van Rensburg and Frost the minute they got to Brissago (these three had managed to reach the town before any of the others), and not because of any action taken or alarm raised by those two young Swiss cretins.

We had no problems with this soldier. He was an older man, a corporal. We passed a collection of huts, apparently uninhabited, less than half an hour after passing the spot where the soldiers had turned us back. I am convinced that, had we reached the shelter of these huts the previous evening, we could certainly have saved the lives of the three deceased.

  Brissago is reached

We reached Brissago at about 1330 or 1400 hours, less than two hours after passing the spot where we had been turned back. I am certain that all of us – the three who died, helped by the stronger ones – could have reached Brissago in safety the night before, if we had met no-one on the way.

From the frontier to Brissago we had followed a track all the way. Higher up it was sometimes difficult but from near the point where we were turned back it was easy going and all downhill.

  Taken to hospital at Bellinzona then rejoined English speaking members of the band

I was taken by car to a hospital to Bellinzona for treatment of my frost-bitten feet. I was very lucky that that was all that ailed me. The doctors, nurses and the other patients could not have been kinder and more helpful. I was well looked after.

I left Bellinzona on 3 February and rejoined the English-speaking members of our escape group in Berne. I don't know what happened to our Russians – presumably they were sent to a Russian camp somewhere in Switzerland. We were put up in a hostel, and had a grand time playing billiards, ice-skating, going to the cinema, and seeing the sights of the federal capital. We also saw an international ice-hockey match, France v Switzerland, as well as an ice-skating show featuring various champions. We were well treated, and were very glad to be in a free country.

  Welsh’s final accounting

From Berne we were taken to Geneva, from where we were taken in a US army truck to Lyons in France. We were flown to North Stafford in England, and then entrained for Brighton. We three South Africans sailed from Liverpool to Cape Town on 16 April, arriving in Table Bay on 28 April.

Although I told Brig. Cartwright at the British legation about my experiences, and signed a typewritten summary at his request on 5 February, I was never questioned by the Swiss about what had happened on the mountain. I was the only one • who could have given them a full account of the tragedy. Nothing was too difficult at the time, and ALL of us could have gotten down safely along a well-trodden path. None of our party needed to have died.

I put all the blame squarely on those two armed imbeciles who had refused to let us proceed to safety. In my signed statement I had said I was sure I could recognise those two men again, but I was never summoned to do so. They certainly told their superiors a pack of lies all right![15] (Continued)