Hargrave to the Hitler Line: The Canadian 5th Armoured in Italy

By Fred McLean

Twenty year old Bud McLean and his colleagues from the Canadian 5th Armoured Division come of age against the backdrop of WW2 Italy.
Thirteen men hung precariously to a tiny bridgehead, waiting to be reinforced.
Out-manned, and out-gunned, their commander radioed the recce troop and gave them permission to retreat if they deemed it necessary. They chose to stay. On an obscure river bank south of Rome, a Canadian action at the little known Battle of the Melfa River, threw open the door to Rome and saved thousands of Allied lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fred McLean
• Release date: Jan 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781773703343

Book preview

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Table of Contents

Foreword

To Hargrave

Author’s Note

The McLean Family (circa 1940)

Epilogue

Glossary

Acknowledgements

Foreword

When my generation was young we walked among them. They worked our farms, plowed our streets, and built our homes. They tied our skates and taught us how to play baseball and hockey. Our veterans went when and where they were needed, and gave all that they had. They fought for human sanctity abroad, then came home and fortified it here.

The greatest citizens of our little hamlet and surrounding areas has always been represented well when our country and way of life was in peril.

The people that have been mentioned between these pages represent only a small portion of the sacrifice from a tiny area of Canada. Whether it was Lavern Dimmit getting three tanks shot out from under him in Italy, Bernie Lund freezing in the Aleutians, Harold Barnes sweltering in the jungles in Burma, or John Hawtin sweltering in modern day Afghanistan, all of their contributions were needed. We still need people like them today, I only wish there were more of them left around to thank.

My Uncle Bud was one of these people. He was my hero, this is his story.

To Hargrave

Now since I left ‘OLD HARGRAVE’

I’ve travelled near and far

I’ve travelled some on horseback

and many miles by car.

I’ve covered miles by aeroplane

and some in an old boxcar.

But there is no place like Hargrave

No matter where you are.

I miss the school, I miss the church,

the local store and skating rink,

I miss so many good old friends

With whom we’d sometimes tip a drink.

I remember all the fun

When I was just a lad,

I remember all the love and kindness

Of my great Mum and Dad.

I remember, too, the blacksmith shop

Where the anvil used to ring

And as the hammer flailed the sparks

Frank Gardiner used to sing.

Now Frank Gardiner was a humble man

A product of hard times

And as he worked away the day

He’d recite us school-boy rhymes.

We learned a lot of things at school

And from Mum and dear old Pop

But we got a wealth of information

At Frank Gardiner’s blacksmith shop.

Our Dad came from Prince Edward Island

And he told us tales of fishing

But if we stepped out of line

He took us on a whaling expedition.

Our Mother came from Ontario,

The land of lovely Trillium

She is endowed with loving grace

and is one in a million.

When I look o’er the map of memories

No matter where I roam

My heart goes back to old Hargrave

Because that’s my Home Sweet Home.

By Bud McLEAN

Author’s Note

You are about to read a screenplay about a World War Two event. For a better reading experience, you may want to fan to the back of the book to the glossary.

I was just a kid, I knew I’d be terrified, and I was.

– Bud McLean

FADE IN:

EXT. LIRI VALLEY - ITALY - PREDAWN SUPER IMPOSED - May 24th, 1944

A clear night sky, dotted with stars. Then, a trio of distant CRACKS are heard as three shells from German 88’s are launched. The missiles invade the placid air space above, growing ever closer and louder until they sound like oncoming freight trains.

Voices in the darkness:

MACEY

Get down! Get your heads down boys!

Two of the shells EXPLODE in a series of orange flashes about 200 yards away. The third shell makes a sharper sound on impact and is followed by the sound of a secondary explosion as flames shoot skyward. Panicked shouts and orders can be heard in the distance.

TRP NEIL ANDERSON

Jesus Christ!

Anderson is breathing rapidly.

MACEY

Simmer down, simmer. That’s it. I think. Jerry’s just sent us a couple hates that’s all.

BUD

Well if that’s harassing fire I’d sure hate to run into him when he’s really pissed off because they’ve tagged something.

TRP CLARK

Those heavies? 75’s? 88’s?

BUD

Yeah something like that.

MACEY

Bud, is that you?

BUD

I’m over here.

MACEY

Coming over.

The first rays of the rising sun make the figure of Macey somewhat discernible as he walks over to a second figure, that of Bud McLean. Macey squats down by Bud who is now sitting on a rock. He pulls out a cigarette and lights it. Bud pulls out a cigarette before Macey’s match goes out and Macey lights it for him.

MACEY (CONT’D)

Sleep at all?

BUD

Christ no, and I doubt I will now, after that.

MACEY

We’ve got to be close to forming up anyway. I’ve got about 0515.

A soldier approaches Macey and Bud. His heavy breathing and footfalls can be heard as he runs to them, and then he is collapsing on his knees in front of them. Three men appear clearly in the morning light. The messenger is a very agitated trooper named Jacob Funk.

FUNK

A Sherman got lit up back there.

MACEY

One of ours?

FUNK

No, I mean I didn’t get that close but I was told it was the Brits.

BUD

That attached squadron?

FUNK

Yeah, I think so. At the very least someone’s hurt bad. I’ve never heard screams like that before.

MACEY

Well we’ve got a few minutes. Let’s go have a look.

Macey, Bud and Funk rise to their feet and head down an old goat path towards the distant burning wreck.

The morning light reveals that Macey and Bud are lithe athletic six footers. Funk is about 5’9" tall with impish features planted on an oval face. The men walk silently through knee high intermittent banks of morning mist.

The distant screams are over, and the panicked orders and yelling have all but died out as well as the men get closer to their destination.

There are about twenty Canadian and British soldiers standing in a semicircle around the smoldering remnants of a Sherman tank.

BUD (V.O.)

We’d followed the grisly furrows of war for seven months in this country. Witnessed the cruel swath of her destruction in the spent faces of those left behind to pick up the pieces. It was a steady and at times an all too natural progression she was putting us through. A crumbled village, a starving child here, or a rotting corpse there. But ultimately it was her smell that was the key to the recipe. The more we bathe in the scent of death the closer we are to being suffocated or surviving her.

The trio of Straths approach the last few yards to the casualties from the shelling. A couple of soldiers have seen enough and wander off, leaving just enough room for the Straths to peer down at the four broken, burnt bodies of the British tank crew. Nothing is said, each man alone with his thoughts. They stare open mouthed, trying to process the scene.

BUD (V.O.) (CONT’D)

This morning is different though. Death has sent us a personal invitation. Soon we’ll meet her face to face, and realize our fate. For the Strath’s, the last mile of seduction is complete. The dance is about to begin.

EXT. COUNTRY ROAD NEAR HARGRAVE MANITOBA - AFTERNOON SUPERIMPOSED: SEPTEMBER 1941

A gopher stands upright in the ditch surveying his surroundings, then ducks into his hole as a sputtering Model A rattles past him, trailing billows of dust that roll off the road and over his house.

Inside the car two young men in the front of the car are drinking beer. Bud McLean is driving the car. Ab Bickerton is in the passenger seat.

Bickerton like Bud is about 19 years of age and approximately 6 feet tall, although some what lighter in build.

BICKERTON

Easy Bud! Don’t blow this old gal up before we get there. I don’t want to carry this beer the rest of the way.

BUD

Relax Ab, you worry too much. I know what she can do, and I know these roads like the back of my hand.

EXT. MCLEAN FARM 1 MILE FROM BUD AND AB BICKERTON - CONTINUOUS

Men in the field are stooking the wheat crop, they are just about done. The men feed the sheaves head first into the separator. They stand in the middle of an open hay wagon, powered by a faithful team of clydesdales. The straw and grain spouting out the separator shimmer in the sun.

A table is being prepared, covered with a red checkered table cloth. Farm wives are filling up every available space with Roast Beef, boiled potatoes, pumpkin pies, pickled beets and other preserves. A giant water melon resides in the center of the table. Jubilant overalled men of all ages mop their brows and discuss the harvest.

INSIDE THE CAR CONTINUOUS

Bud and Ab toast their new adventure by clinking their beer bottles together.

BUD

Here’s to the women of Europe, and kicking Hitler’s ass.

BICKERTON

Steady food, and steady pay.

The two men lift their beers and drink. A skunk runs across the road in front of the car. Bud, startled, swerves to miss it and ends up in the ditch. The passenger tire strikes a large rock and is flattened. The two men stare straight ahead for a few seconds saying nothing. Then Bud strikes the steering wheel he is still holding, with his open palms. Bud has beer dripping from his face.

BUD

Shit !

BICKERTON

C’mon.

Bickerton opens his passenger door and proceeds to the front of the car to survey the damage, Bud follows from his side a second later. Both men stare at the flat tire.

BICKERTON (CONT’D)

I didn’t see any spare.