Philip John Duppa (“John”) Langrishe

7th Medium Regiment, Royal Artillery

Philip John Duppa Langrishe (1917-2010) took part in the Second World War as a Lieutenant in the 7th Medium Regiment, Royal Artillery. His first deployment was to Crete, and later to North Africa, where he was eventually captured on 1 June 1942. Langrishe was handed over to the Italians and brought to PG 41, Montalbo, near the town of Ziano Piacentino. In 1943, he was transferred to PG 49, Fontanellato. Here, he received news of Mussolini’s deposition on 25 July and of the Armistice between Italy and the Allies on 8 September. After some uncertainty on what to do, the PoWs, warned by the Italian guards of the approaching German troops, staged a mass escape from the camp and scattered in the surrounding countryside.

It was a beautiful sunny, early autumn day as the column turned its back upon the camp and directed its feet across the stubble and on to the road running past the village. It was not long before the locals saw what was going on and came out of the houses to watch and wave and wish us luck.

Langrishe and the other prisoners began a long march to get as far away from the camp as possible, crossing fields and villages and eating the supplies delivered to the camp by the Red Cross, which they had taken with them. As the days passed, the cold grew stronger, and they realised they needed shelter for the night. The group headed south, along the Via Emilia. However, along the way, Langrishe, with two friends from his regiment, Mac and Jerry, decided to split from the rest.

They soon reached a farmhouse, where they approached the locals but without success. Only in the afternoon did a farmer come and point them to another farmhouse, where they would receive help

We found that we were in a vineyard and so were able to refresh ourselves with the near-ripe fruit. As the sun rose in another cloudless sky, we lay where we were discussing what should be done when, early in the afternoon, a peasant came past our hiding place, and we plucked up the necessary courage and Italian to ask him for help. He said he would ask the farmer whose house was at the top of the field and suiting the action to the word, strode off in that direction. In a few minutes we saw him coming back; were we in luck or would we have to try again? The answer was that we were to go to the farm after dark and we would be given food and lodging for the time being […] The farmer and his wife, a weather-beaten couple of some sixty summers and winters each, made us welcome in their manner and soon we were sitting down to a magnificent plateful of steaming broth.

Langrishe and his companions stayed at the farmhouse for a week, and they were provided with warm meals and a comfortable place to sleep. During this period, Langrishe realised that several escapees lived in the area, and thus, to protect themselves better, they started gathering together in the evenings. Moreover, he got to know his host family better, and often, after dinner, the Italians would gather around their guests to hear anecdotes about their lives and past.

As soon as it became dark, we would return to our hot meal and when we got to know our hosts better a discussion would follow in our stilted but steadily improving Italian. They were anxious to learn of the English way of living, what our previous histories had been and what we thought would be the outcome of the war.

As time passed, rumours grew about the presence of German patrols hunting escaped Allied PoWs. Because of this, the Italians asked Langrishe and his companions to leave as soon as possible, fearing they might be caught. As the situation appeared dire, Langrishe, whose Italian had greatly improved, asked for new civilian clothes to avoid being recognised by the Nazi-fascists.

We asked our host if he could fix us up but as we were all larger than the normal run of Italians, he was not able to do so. Further there was a big demand for such clothes from all those other escapees in the neighborhood and there were many extraordinary outfits to be seen. They did however suggest that if it would be any help, they could dye our shirts and trousers blue or brown, which kind offer was accepted. The next day they borrowed some ill-fitting clothing for us while our shirts were dyed brown and our trousers blue.

On 13 October, not 18 September, Langrishe learned about the Italian declaration of war against Germany by listening to the radio. This situation made their relationship with the local Italians even more difficult, as they grew fearful of German reprisals. Langrishe and his companions were again advised to leave for another hideout, and in this case, they decided to split up and go their own way.

Jerry and Mac agreed that under the circumstances it would be better to split and, on the 20th, with my few belongings on my back I betook myself to the farm of one Maestri at the village of Toccalmatto, about one and a half miles from Fontanellato. It was a much larger and more modern farm but there was, as usual, a fly in the ointment […] Maestri and his family welcomed me. I was given the luxury of a separate bedroom, a change from the draughty loft in which we had previously been sleeping and in return for my keep I said I would be happy to help on the farm. I was taken at my word and found a new experience in my life.

Langrishe found his new accommodation quite comfortable and worked in the fields helping Maestri. His stay provided an opportunity for him to build personal, often deep, relationships with the locals. Even in bad weather, Langrishe helped with grape pressing, after the fruit was collected in big buckets and then transferred to large tubs for hand-pressing.

My day was well arranged; in the mornings I would help on the farm, lifting sugar-beet (a back-breaking job) or muck-spreading which was an equally tiring form of entertainment. Then after a generous lunch of pasta and rough red wine, I would take myself over the fields to where a small group of my friends would meet to spend the afternoon in speculation as to the trend of coming events and make plans for getting back to our own homes […] Then the weather broke and for several days it was impossible to work in fields so, as the grapes had been harvested, all hands on the farm were turned to the task of making the wine. Basket after basket of fine black grapes would be emptied into the large trough for pressing; I was entreated to take my turn, sans boots, in the trough, but I said I was unskilled and would prefer to lift the tubs of grape juice from the trough to the vats. This was, as it turned out, a far more exhausting job than I had anticipated.

On some occasions, Langrishe was able to chat with the farmhand’s daughter, who had nine children. They soon showed a great curiosity for the British Isles and the books Langrishe had carried with him from the prison camp.

I explained that they (The British Isles) were situated away to the north of their sunny land, that there was more rain and fog and that it was much colder. I told them of Wales and Ireland and Scotland whereupon they assured me that Scotland was an island inhabited by barbaric people who did not even have windows in their houses. My efforts to correct them were received with doubt; could this grotesque distortion of the facts have been the work of the Fascist teaching?

On 30 September, Langrishe and three other escapees decided it was time to depart. They headed for Fidenza to cross the Apennines and reach the frontlines. The march was gruelling across rugged terrain, and they had to face numerous aches and pains, starting with constant exhaustion and the sores caused by blisters on their feet.

In the end, we finally dragged ourselves another couple of miles along the mule track we were then following and entered the village of Vigoleno, nestling among the hills. We asked for shelter at the first house on entering the village. Luck was with us; we were right royally made welcome and invited in by the farmer, a well-to-do man with a prosperous looking house. In what seems less time than to tell of it, we were sitting down at a well-covered table to a magnificent supper with which our host offered a choice of a more than palatable red or white sparkling wine.

Langrishe stayed in Vigoleno for a few days, enjoying the warm welcome of the villagers who provided him with hearty meals and cosy accommodation. However, soon the need to press on took over, and Langrishe continued his journey, passing through numerous villages where both he and his companions were welcomed with great kindness.

We found a man working in the fields and asked him whether he knew a house where we could stay for the night. He said he would lead us to the village and find somewhere for us, a task he performed with the utmost. We were received by a family like long-lost sons.

Langrishe’s journey continued through the villages of Trinità, Villora, and Pieve di Bardi in the Emilia hinterlands. He soon realised the strong anti-fascist sentiments of the locals, some of whom had lived in the United Kingdom, which made it easier to communicate with them.

The villagers were of stout peasantry; they were uncorrupted by fascism and only wished to be allowed to live in the way their ancestors had done for hundreds of years. The war had hardly come to their village except to take away some of the young men; one of these, Aldo Ferrari, had been conscripted into the Air Force but on the surrender of Italy had departed homewards and was then straining to take up arms against the hated Germans. We were soon provided with a cigarette and then a good meal after which we sat and chatted with Agostino about the good old days in London.

As winter arrived, the weather deteriorated significantly, and Langrishe was compelled to recognise that he needed to hurry if he wanted to cross the mountains and reach the Allied-controlled territory in southern Italy. After his lengthy stay in Emilia, he then crossed through Tuscany, Umbria, Lazio, and finally Abruzzo. There, he joined a group of around twenty escaped PoWs who, with the assistance of local guides, managed to traverse the areas of Monte Greco, Alfedena, and Castel di Sangro, despite strict German surveillance.

Ultimately, Langrishe managed to rejoin the Allied troops along the Sangro River on 18 November 1943. He was eventually repatriated on 23 December after walking 530 miles over the course of 34 days.