DEATH IN RUINS

Dominion, Volume 37, Issue 200, 22 May 1944, Page 5

DEATH IN RUINS

Cassino Now A Gaunt Monument To War PEASANTS CELEBRATE ASCENSION (Official War Correspondent, N.Z.E.F.) CASSINO, May 18. The stench of death hangs heavy over Cassino —heavier than the clouds of stnoke and dust which mercifully shroud the more distant ruins. The greyness has shut out the long vista of what the Americans call Purple Heart Valley, now ripe, with the green of new grass and the blood-brightness of poppies. The glare of the midday sun is softened by the dust, but it is oppressively hot amid these piles of Stone.

I am standing now ata spot where for months before this day no 'man could crawl without drawing fire, but the strangeness of this fact does not register at the moment. What oppresses is the silence —the complete absence of the noise of war after the massed thunder of thousands of guns. The only, sounds are a flapping of tattered canvas in the faint breeze, arid a muffled ringing as of distant bells. This conies from rods of building iron which, projecting gauntly from the pulverized walls, beat softly together. When our artillery opens up with measured trftop-fire over an enemy target we are reassured by its familiar noise. Men who wage war unthinkingly or for personal gain should see this stark memorial to the thousands of men of both sides whose bodies lie yet unburied amid the rubble of the once beautiful town. As I made my way forward to Cassino this morning I noticed that all the peasants who have lived in this valley through the months of warfare were wearing their best clothes and moving toward their shell-scarred places of worship. For them it was a double celebration —the Day of Ascension and of deliverance from the perils of Rattle. Polish Flag Unfurled.

Dodging the congested, Highway 6, which spanned the countryside like a glittering black ruler-mark from Mt. Trocchio to Cassino, we went by dusty jeep tracks down through San Michele on to the Pasquale route. This was the road taken by the New Zealand tanks when two months ago they moved in to support our attack on Castle Hill. The track into the town wound across watercourses as a causeway flanked by marshy ground gaping with craters made by the bombing. Smoke still rolled up the heights where the castle stood like a broken tooth, and the overturned- pylon of Hangman’s Hill was almost obscured. An hour previously the Polish flag had been unfurled from the massive bastions of the monastery itself. Scattered singly and in clusters were derelict Allied tanks, which had been caught by fire or by the treacherous ground as they ran the gauntlet across the flat country. Manj> of them appeared little the worse for their sojourn in no-man’s-land, and with repaired tracks they will join our advance before very long. Standing still foursquare and grim amid the bomb-craters and splintered wreckage, Cassino jail looks its part, lor months it was the headquarters and blockhouse guarding the limits of the Allied advance. Within are beds still covered with dirty blankets, a great stove on which are scattered dixies and a few well-thumbed books, and a profusion of personal gear. . The tracks are narrow and winding as one progresses southward. It is a mountaineering feat to cross the shoulder of Castle Hill, where one is treading on 30ft. or more of rubble. The air is tull of the buzz of a myriad of flies, and the smel of death is ever more persistent. Huddled in craters and behind walls are the bodies of men slain in night patrol actions. Many are German paratroops, some of whom bear the bright ribbon of the Iron Cross looped through a buttonhole. Dangers -Remain. There is real danger in the central and southern portion of the town, where it is foolhardy to leave the beaten tracks or to pick up any object lying about. Ihe Germans left many booby-traps in the most unexpected of places. The oncebeautiful cathedral, where a New Zealand battalion killed 50 Germans during the advance on the station two months ago. is almost obliterated now, and Highwav 0 is quite difficult to trace. The wreckage of the Continental Hotel, once an impressive building of three stories, oozes smoke from the last German demolition, and there are enemy tanks buried in the surrounding rubble. Mines and booby-traps are thickly sprinkled here and in the Hotel des Roses. Off to the south again, the ancient mass of the Coliseum appears relatively undamaged iu spite of the almost ceaseless ’attention during our attack from artillery and fighter-bombers. I saw a six-pounder incredibly mounted in a house. It had been carried in by New Zealanders piece by piece and assembled in these cramped quarters, all under cover of darkness when the enemy was only a few yards away. Then there were New Zealand tanks, which had lain seemingly derelict, for months, only to come to life tiduy. Two of these snuggle in a crypt, and some more near the station I spoke to one New Zealander who was’still in Cassino. sitting in a new tank alongside the battered hulk of his old one. The crews, who have taken turns for weeks to man abandoned tanks, often within a few yards of the enemy, are disappointed that German tanks in the Continental Hotel area did not show fight, but considering the odds against them it was not surprising. Mortaring caused us to duck into a basement dug-out. There we found one of the contrasts of warfare. On the nooi above stood an ornate full-length mirror, completely undamaged. The dug-out bore the usual signs of long habitation, and the walls were lined with photos ot "pinup girls” and popular English and American magazines. All was quiet when we made our way out into the sunlight again.