Escaping Has Ceased to Be a Sport by Frank Unwin

Author:Frank Unwin [Unwin, Frank]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: History, Military, World War II, Biography & Autobiography, Historical
ISBN: 9781526714954
Google: pwPMDwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Pen and Sword
Published: 2018-01-30T00:37:18+00:00

Chapter 10

A New Home, but Danger is Never Far Away

Then the men of the village gave Frank and me a wonderful surprise, which illustrated the level of their concern both for our welfare and their own safety, as well as the lengths that they would go to in order to look after us. They said they had all thought the Landi shack where we were living was too dangerous, being so close to the village, and they asked me to go with them. We set off up the track out of the village, and at a point about half a mile away I was guided into the wood on the right of the path. About 50yds down the hillside we arrived at the edge of the wood on a small round plateau jutting out from the hill. The plateau had been cleared of any vegetation, except for one small pine tree, and there before our eyes stood a superb shack. It was A-frame in shape, made of slim chestnut saplings and covered with a thick layer of brushwood that the men assured me would be fully waterproof.

The site was south-facing, and from this elevated position the view was breath-takingly beautiful. The Ambra valley lay below us, with the village of Rapale glistening on the first crest beyond; then there was a succession of ridges of the rolling hills south of Chianti, each more indistinct than the last, until they finally were lost in the distant haze. Occasional villages topped the distant ridges and, in the far distance, the towering slopes of Monte Amiata supplied the backdrop to the scene. Even the door of the shack faced south, so the view from inside offered the same staggering panorama. Inside the hut were two comfortable bunks also made of chestnut and brushwood and fitted with sheets and a pillow. I could not believe my eyes and did not know how to thank the fellows who had built this perfect place.

I went back to the old shack, where I found Frank asleep, and we carried our kit up to our new home. He was as pleased as I had been and for once showed a spark of life. There was a small pool very close beside the track known by the villagers as the Horseshoe Spring. The track led for some hundreds of yards down into the valley to an isolated farm, Vencia, occupied by the Bindi family. So the track to our spring was seldom used, and it was ideal for us to take either a quick swill or a good strip wash. The new place meant a long uphill walk for those bringing food to us, but this seemed to make no difference to them.

Once installed in the shack, we were much more comfortable. We were well fed and after the healthy life we were living we were now extremely fit. Furthermore, the remote position of the new shack meant that it was unlikely to be found by any roaming Germans, so the villagers were much less at risk.

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