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A bird’s eye view

Martin Penner

Wednesday, 21st May 2008

Martin Penner unravels the turbulent history of Monte Cassino

If you ever take the motorway from Rome to Naples, you may notice that for most of the journey you are moving down a wide valley with grey mountains on each side. At about the halfway point, there is a peak on the left with what looks like a white stone fortress perched on top. It’s immediately obvious that the view from up there will be breathtaking.

Having heard some of the stories about this place, I turned off the motorway here one Sunday afternoon recently. Driving through the town of Cassino and then up the wooded incline along a series of hairpin bends, I reached the top of the mountain in about 20 minutes. And there, looking slightly less forbidding up close, was the monastery of Monte Cassino. St Benedict, who founded it in ad 529, was guided to this soul-stirring spot by three ravens — or so the story goes.

The spectacular view from the monastery, along with a small translation mistake, meant that in February 1944 it was blasted to smithereens by Allied bombers. Afterwards, all that remained was part of the outer wall and the crypt containing the remains of St Benedict. But if the Flying Fortresses did a thorough job, it was a rather pointless one. There were no German guns positioned up there and probably no soldiers either.

The monastery’s misfortune was its supremely strategic position. This stern-looking white stone building overlooks the entrance to the Liri valley leading northwards to Rome. In 1944 the only decent road through the valley ran past the foot of the mountain, not far from today’s motorway. To the British Eighth Army and the American Fifth Army, who were fighting their way up Italy, the monastery seemed to be an all-seeing eye blocking their advance northwards.

The German defensive line did in fact pass through Cassino, but it did not include the mountain-top monastery, whose religious nature the Germans had respected. They were rightly confident that the icy mountain ridges and rivers in this part of the peninsula would ensure an admirable defence, even without the monastery.

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Peter Hirsch

June 2nd, 2008 9:03am

You wrote a worthy article. Thank you.
We on the Fallschirmjaeger's (paratroopers') course I attended were awarded our wings on the anniversary of the drop into Crete. One of the survivors of the Defence of Monte Cassino, an unassuming, shy man, visited.

Of the original Fallschirmjaeger company of more than 150, about a dozen survived. All were wounded, several mortally and more very badly injured. For three months they held up two armies, one British and one American, Alexander’s and Clarke’s. For two months, they had had no contact with, reinforcement, support or supplies from German forces but fought continuously and tenaciously. Their wounded died. Even Thermopylae does not bear comparison with this feat of arms.

Not one round of ammunition remained. In the last days defence had been conducted with the bayonet and thrown rocks. They had eater nothing for almost a week. There was no water left, which was the final deciding factor for surrender. Outside the final perimeter was a crust of Polish fallen. Inside were more than a hundred fallen Fallschirmjaeger.

Good men, all: and they had no sons.

Sons, grandsons and nephews of Fallschirmjaeger who assaulted Crete were the young men I trained with. Crete had been defended by, amongst others, a battalion of Welshmen commanded, until shortly before the battle, by my father. They fought to a standstill, 60 in every hundred killed or wounded on both sides.

Good men, all.

I visited Monte Casino on a bright spring day. There were five coaches from Poland, filled with schoolchildren in their early teens. They carried up to the cemetery a great Polish flag, held between them so that they occupied the whole road as they walked. They hoisted it above their dead. White for hope over red.

My name originates from what was once Prussian Pomerania and is now Poland; and I served in my father's Regiment. He served on General Mark Clarke’s staff.

Even Rorkes Drift does not bear comparison with the defence of Monte Cassino.