Ralph Thomas Woodfield – 1913-1993

The day before I turned 22 my Grandpa died, he was 79 years old and had lived a full life.  In the few years before his passing, he became proficient in the use of an early home computer and word processor and used those newfound skills to write his life story, his memoirs if you will.

Part of those memoirs included Ralph’s time spent serving overseas during World War II, in those days there was no tour of duty, you stayed overseas and served your country until the job was done.  His time fighting the Germans included involvement in the Africa campaign (chasing Rommel and co across the deserts of Egypt and Libya).  When that campaign was won he and his fellow New Zealanders were redeployed to Italy, which is the reason I’m telling you this story.

When I knew we were coming to Italy I decided to re-read Grandpa’s memoirs and see if we might be visiting some of the areas he served in.  With thanks to Google Maps your author was able to plot on a map each place he visited and so we Travelling Woodies decided to retrace his steps.  The more I've got into this little project the more interesting I’ve found it so, along with his story, I’ve also done other research to see what the New Zealand servicemen were up to at the time and what battles they were involved in.  It’s been an absolutely fascinating journey so please, allow me to share it with you.

At the outbreak of World War II Ralph was 27 years old and not particularly interested in serving however, he recalled as a youngster the stories telling how conscripted soldiers from WWI were treated as second class citizens, both while serving and also, sadly, on their return home.  He was determined that this wasn’t going to happen to him so, a short time before conscription was announced he volunteered to join the army.  Some of my earliest childhood memories involve hearing my father and grandfather talking to each other via amateur radio, or ‘ham radio’ as it was colloquially known.  Both were total enthusiasts when it came to building and operating radios along with the power supplies, antennae and other paraphernalia needed to run a radio and get the signal out.  Although the army was notorious for assigning servicemen to duties for which they were least well suited, they eventually figured it out and Ralph became a signalman. 

Grandpa first arrived in Italy at the port of Taranto in October 1943 – here’s what he has to say about that:

“A day or two later I was sent for and told that I had been selected (goodness only knows why me), to go to Taranto in Italy with a Signals Officer as part of the Divisional advance party.  Our job was to reconnoitre the area into which the New Zealand Division was shortly to move and to select a site for the Signals Headquarters.  We did this easily in about 24 hours, and then we had some time, say about a week, to amuse ourselves.  I borrowed a motorbike and went over to Brindisi, just to have a look at Brindisi itself.  There was a flying boat, a Short Sunderland I think, on the water in the harbour there.  Then I went back to where we were camped a few miles north of Taranto.  I remember the throttle cable of the motorbike broke while I was en route so that I had to travel most of the distance back from Brindisi to Base with the end of the cable twisted round my index  finger; it felt as though it would cut the end off my finger.”

So our first stop on our step retracing mission was Taranto, and in fact we found a Harvey park not far from the Naval base where I’m sure his ship would have landed.  Your author commented to his lovely travelling companion that, had we been parked in that spot in 1943 we could have seen the ship carrying my Grandpa passing right by.  I rocked up to the guard house of the naval base on my bike, told my story to a couple of very friendly and interested sailors, and requested that I be allowed to take a look at the waterfront where he would have landed.  They were definitely keen to show me around but sadly it was: a) a Sunday meaning no-one was in the office to give me the requisite pass, and b) some of the top brass were visiting so there was no way they could bend the rules and take a non-military ‘tourist’ on any sort of base visit.  And besides, there’s currently a war in Europe so everyone is a bit jittery at the moment.  Not to worry, I was able to cycle around to the other side of the harbour and look back at the navy vessels docked which was just about as good.  I spent some time riding and wandering the streets of the old town and wondered if my Grandpa walked these very same streets.  Given he had a week to amuse himself I suspect he probably did.

However our next stop which coincided with Grandpa’s journey was Brindisi and much more interesting for your intrepid author, please allow me to explain.  We parked Harvey about 5km out of town and I rode in on my bike, pretty much making a bee-line for the downtown waterfront area.  On the ride in I reflected that I was possibly riding my two-wheeled vehicle on the very same road that he may have done almost exactly 80 years earlier, and for essentially the same purpose; sightseeing.  I stopped by what I felt were probably the 3 most well-known tourist attractions in town which were the Colonne Romane di Brindisi (the Roman columns), Cattedrale San Giovanni Battista and Plazza Sant Terese.  I stood in front of each site and wondered if my Grandpa had stood exactly where I was and I pondered some of the following questions:

-        Did he make the ride to Brindisi in his army uniform or civilian clothes?

-        Did he feel safe?  I.e. what were attitudes towards foreigners (or perhaps invading soldiers if he was in uniform) like?

-        How much money did he have in his pocket and what if anything did he spend it on?  A gelato perhaps?  Maybe a small souvenir?

-        Along with Taranto, Brindisi was the major port used in southern Italy for the allies to land men and supplies – how busy was the waterfront that day?  He mentions seeing a Sunderland Flying Boat in the harbour but how many ships were there and what were they unloading?  I imagine it was chaos and mayhem!

-        Was he homesick?

Your author has to be honest and say this was undoubtedly a unique experience.  How often does one get to follow in the footsteps of an ancestor, and more especially try and relive his experiences during the greatest conflict in human history?  To say I feel privileged is an understatement!

The next place mentioned in Grandpa’s story is the Battle of Sangro River which I shall come to in just a moment, however we know that the remainder of the 2^nd NZ Division (known as the ‘Div’) joined him in Taranto before heading north.  We know the kiwis assembled in Bari and that reinforcements arrived via that port, then headed up the coast towards the Gustav Line.  This was a line which ran from Italian coast to coast and was heavily fortified by the Germans.  At it’s eastern most point lay the Sangro River which was the site of a major battle in the Italian campaign and one in which my Grandfather fought.

“We crossed the Sangro and drove Jerry back beyond a ridge that ran through Castelfrentano, and there the Division got stuck. Both armies were virtually bogged down by and for the winter.”

For those interested, there is plenty more information on this battle and others in the Italian campaign involving the New Zealanders - there are several websites containing information but this is the best one I found:

Prelude - The Italian Campaign | NZHistory, New Zealand history online

Into action at the Sangro River - The Italian Campaign | NZHistory, New Zealand history online

So where did the Travelling Woodies go next to follow in Grandpa’s footsteps?

The first was the Sangro River Commonwealth War Cemetery which was one of the most moving things I have ever experienced.  New Zealand incurred more than 1600 casualties in this battle alone and we were brought to tears as we read the names and ages of the young men who had perished.  Your author stopped to pay his respects in front of the grave of signalman H.J. Maunsell aged 27.  There’s every chance my Grandfather knew him, they more than likely fought and served alongside one another.  How did he die?  Perhaps it was a bullet, perhaps an artillery shell.  I wonder how close it came to the name R.T. Woodfield being on that epitaph instead…  meaning his children and grandchildren (including your author of course) would never have been born.  The cemetery itself was the most beautiful we have visited with red roses and other immaculately kept greenery interspersing the headstones.  In the NZ section we walked through there lay 225 young men and a quick estimate put the total number of Commonwealth dead in that cemetery at around 3000.

Although it’s not mentioned in his memoirs, I knew that the Div was involved in liberating the town of Perano, a gorgeous little hilltop settlement (link here for those interested Battle of the Sangro, 20 November- 4 December 1943 (historyofwar.org)).  The ride up there was so steep (20% gradient in some places) that your intrepid correspondent had to push his bike some of the way and stop several times for a few deep gulps of air!  I had approached from the north and hoped that the liberators had approached from some other direction and that it wasn’t quite so steep!  The town square had a magnificent view over the surrounding countryside and contained a single memorial to both the world wars, and interestingly, just to the side was a separate little sign on a pole which I’ve translated as follows:

“Here the ambassador Trevor Donald Mathieson pauses reverently to remember the New Zealand soldiers who liberated this country from Nazi occupation in 1943.  Perano, 27 April 2014”

I felt certain that Ralph Woodfield was one of those liberators and I felt extremely proud to ride and walk the streets knowing that he had almost certainly been there and been a significant part of history for that little town.

As Castle Frentano was mentioned in the quote above it was also on the ‘must see’ list, the town itself was nowhere near as picturesque as Perano but still worth a stooge around.  I particularly enjoyed popping into the church right on the highest point of the town because I’m sure Ralph would most certainly have visited – he was a man of faith but also had a particular interest in pipe organs so I’m sure he would have stopped by and walked through the same door as I had some 80 years later.  Your author also spent some time exploring the area around the Sangro River, I found one particular spot where the river wasn’t too wide or fast moving and wondered if this might have been one of the places they crossed.

From there the trail-following journey took us south east and not far from our destination we found some lovely cheap LPG so stopped in for a refill.  Unlike any other country in Europe, Italy requires an attendant to fill your tank (goodness only knows why, it’s easy enough to do and the Italians don’t seem to care much for rules in general).  We were served by a young guy with a New York Italian accent who enquired where we were off to.  When I told him it was Pietramelara he was shocked – that was his home town and he was dumbstruck why anyone would want to visit it.  I asked him what was wrong with the place and he said there was just nothing much there and they almost never saw a tourist.

“It wasn't very long before we were moved out of the area, and the whole New Zealand Division moved over to the other side of Italy, to Pietramelara south of Cassino, somewhere between Cassino and Naples, and there we stayed for what seems like a long time.”

Despite some research I was unable to ascertain the location where the camp had been set up.  Not to worry, if Grandpa was stationed there for a while, we were keen to explore.  And how wrong our New York Italian friend turned out to be!  Although the town was small and we visited during a heavy cloudburst, it was quaint, unspoiled and charming.  The gelato was exceptional and we made our way up the hill to the Torre Medievale di Pietramelara, the 12^th century fort very close to the centre of town.  It seemed to be largely abandoned however we were able to walk through the maze of partly covered alleyways to the top and visit somewhere that would undoubtedly have piqued my Grandfather’s interest.  Visiting during a thunderstorm made the place seem spooky, it was totally deserted and felt very old!!

The next place mentioned in Grandpa’s story is the town of Cassino, home to the famous Abbey of Montecassino.  This place has a huge number of stories to tell however suffice to say that it’s been there since at least the 6^th century and was founded by none other than St Benedict himself.  Yes, the monk who founded an entire religious order lived there for many years inspiring others to join the faith, living a life of austerity, service and devotion.  Over the 1500 years of its history the Abbey has been sacked, destroyed and rebuilt several times, the most infamous of which occurred in February of 1944 and is a fascinating part of this story.  Again allow me to quote from Ralph’s memoirs:

“I saw the bombs fall on the monastery at Cassino. I happened to be up on top of a prominent hill some miles south of Cassino that day, just doing a bit of a prowl round in my spare time. It was then that the bombers came over and dropped most of their bombs in the general direction of the monastery and the township of Cassino. The story of Cassino is fairly well known. I went back to Cassino with Margaret when we were in Italy in 1976, had a look at the township and went up and had a look at the monastery, which has been magnificently restored.”

It didn’t take much research to figure out which hill he must have been talking about as a quick peruse of Google Maps shows only one hill to the south, and at the very top is a derelict castle called Castello Medievale di Torrocolo.  That must be the vantage point he was talking about and your author was super-excited about retracing his steps to the top and checking out the view of the Abbey from his perspective on the fateful day it was destroyed.  But sadly I was thwarted!  Firstly, despite quite some research and also riding around the base of the hill, it seems that these days there is no track up to the ruin.  Secondly the scrub leading up there was very thick, overgrown and due to recent rain, very wet and muddy.  Finally, I could see a little way up the hill was a fence preventing access so altogether a walk to the top was unfortunately off the agenda.  However I was still able to make it about halfway up which enabled a decent view of the town and abbey, and also a time of reflection on how it must have been to view first hand such a major event of the entire war.  Was he pleased that they were bombing the high ground to flush Jerry out, or was he disgusted at the wanton destruction of such a beautiful and historic building.  Your author suspects the latter.

And that is pretty much the end of the tale.  Grandpa has a load of interesting stories to tell including time spent visiting Naples and Rome (which we have also been to or are about to visit).  There are many anecdotes and stories of his fellow soldiers, the locals he met and what it was like to serve your country during a time of war.  Cassino was eventually liberated as was Rome, although the New Zealanders weren’t involved in the freeing of the capital.  In the end Ralph was invalided out of the war with an eye complaint (one which dogged him for the remainder of his life – I remember he always wore ‘coke bottle’ glasses) and was eventually repatriated to New Zealand on board the Maunganui.  He had left New Zealand for Europe in October 1941 and returned more than 3 years later in November 1944.  There could be absolutely no argument that my Grandfather, Ralph Woodfield, had ‘done his bit’ for which he was decorated for his service with the following awards:

1939-45 Star Africa

Star with 8th Army Clasp

Italy Star

British Empire Medal (1939-45)

Defence Medal

NZ War Service Medal (the "Peter Fraser Special")

I’ll leave you with some humorous quotes and a couple of other anecdotes I particularly enjoyed, the first of which was from his time in Cassino. 

“German planes were almost completely absent, but a few sneaked down south under cover of cloud one day. They came back low and fast up Route 6, the principal road artery through our positions, and dropped a load of bombs, scoring what was probably a lucky hit on an ammunition dump, with spectacular results. Everybody with a weapon handy was blazing away at them, within range or not, with no effect. Later in the day a lone plane was stooging about among scattered clouds. One of our fellows, trigger-happy after the morning's episode, stood out in the open, miles out of range, blazing away with a light machine-gun. An officer rushed up to him. "Put it down, man; put it down. That's one of ours." "Ours be damned", said the man. "It's a b....y Yank!", and let off another burst!”

Growing up I was always aware that Grandpa had no time for Americans, often when he heard an American accent he would imitate them making a squawking noise.  It wasn’t until reading this story that I realised the reason why – here are a couple of excerpts:

“During this spell of about three months in Trentham Camp I had met a delightful girl in Wellington, fell head-over-heels in love, and we became engaged before I went away.”

Then a little later in the story from a stopover in Colombo en route to Europe after he had been stuck on guard duty…

“However, I did manage to get ashore for three or four hours (some of the officers took pity on me) on the afternoon of the second day.  I was able to buy some jewellery and to have some other fun around Colombo, including a few drinks at the famous Galle Face Hotel, courtesy of a friendly English tea-planter.  The jewellery I sent back with the 6th Engineer.  He promised to deliver it to my fiancée when the ship returned to Wellington.  That's the last I ever saw of it, and the last I ever saw of her too for the matter of that, because I hadn't been in Egypt for more than three or four months when somebody sent me a newspaper cutting, an account of her wedding to an American Marine!  I didn't even get a "Dear John", but she did have the goodness to return the engagement ring I had given her, which I sold when I got home some years later for the same price that I had originally paid for it.”

That pretty much explains his distain for Americans, one of them had stolen his fiancée and from that point forward I guess they must all have been tarred with the same brush.  However it all ended well because one day in 1946 after Ralph returned to New Zealand he was passing through Ohakune when the following happy event occurred:

“Next morning I came down to breakfast, looked round the dining room clientele and wondered who was what.  A little later I went off down to the school.  In the staffroom the Senior Secondary Assistant, Jack McDonald, introduced me to those present including Doug Sandford ZL2AI who was the woodwork teacher. "Where is Miss Copeland?"  "Oh, she's next door putting some work on the blackboard."  A few moments later a dainty smallish lass walked in the door. "Oho", thought I, "whose girl art thou?"  Well, to make a long story short, "Miss Copeland" has been Mrs Ralph Woodfield for over forty years, and I maintain that I have never really looked at any other girl since that day.”

And on that cheery note Adventures With Harvey will bid you fond farewell for another edition.  If anyone would like a full copy of Ralph Woodfield’s memoirs please message me as I would be happy to pass them on.  Cheers Grandpa, you certainly did us all proud!!!

Much love as always!

Dave & Anita

My Grandfather, Ralph Woodfield in his service uniform

this is the naval base at Taranto where his ship would almost certainly have docked on arrival

castle at the Taranto harbour entrance

I wonder if this fish market (today mainly selling oysters) was in the same place in 1943

the town of Taranto was rather run down in most places but there were several magnificent murals

Harvey's parking spot in Taranto - had he been parked there in 1943 he could have seen the ship carrying my Grandpa pass by

He almost certainly would have visited this church although today I couldn't go inside due to a wedding

Roman columns in Brindisi where Ralph rode to visit on a borrowed motorbike. He was a tourist 80 years ago just like I was today

 

Brindisi waterfront with naval base (inside the castle) in the background

I'm sure he would have stopped by this WWI memorial in the town square (now with WWII commemoration added)

Brindisi from the other side of the harbour

these bunkers at the port were overgrown but were they fully operational in 1943?

and how about this installation?  It looks military and about WWII era, long since abandoned 

Bari waterfront at sunset - I wonder how much it has changed in the last 80 years

Bari waterfront in daylight

writing in the visitors book at Sangro River Commonwealth War Cemetary

paying my respects to signalman H.J. Maunsell, aged 27.  I wonder if he was a friend of my Grandpa?  They almost certainly fought together.  

this cemetery was beautiful and moving in equal measure. The blooming red roses in amongst the headstones were stunning! 

War memorial in the town square in the hilltop town of Perano which was liberated by my Grandfather's division.  

specific reference to the efforts of the New Zealanders at the same place

here is a ford on the Sangro River - I wonder if the allied troops crossed the river at this very location

the church at Castel Frentano, another town liberated by Ralph and his fellow servicemen

a rainy day at Pietramelara, the town where Ralph was based for a time before moving to Cassino

this is very similar to the view Grandpa would have had from the 'nearby hill' from which he witnessed the bombing of the Abbey at Montecassino

although it was bombed in February 1944, the Abbey has been magnificently rebuilt

this is something like the view Ralph would have had as the first bombs were dropped on the Abbey of Montecassino

today this is the war memorial in Cassino, 80 years ago these tanks and artillery would have been operational

a mosaic at the Abbey

the Abbey at Montecassino is truly magnificent.  It was wonderful to see an ancient building that was still in a similar condition to when it was built, rather than after several centuries of deterioration

every surface at the cathedral of the abbey was decorated with inlaid tiled - unlike anything else we've seen anywhere in Europe (and we've seen a fair few churches!!)

The map we followed to retrace my Grandfather's footsteps from WWII