Page Fifty-five Before setting off to follow the route taken by Captain Sidebottom, a recce party set off to check if a crossing was still possible. The river was found to have risen a little but not enough to prevent the tanks from crossing, however, getting down to it appeared to be somewhat difficult. Thus informed, Skipper decided to go to the river to see for himself, which was successfully accomplished despite several anxious moments when our Sherman nearly bogged down. No sooner had we arrived, RHQ came on the air with instructions to move the tanks, including those of the two troops in reserve, as quickly as possible on to Monte Farneto. Although the rain had stopped, the ground conditions were so bad that it took five or six hours for the order to be fully carried out. Despite the intermittent shellfire, we were all relieved to be on the drier ground of Monte Farneto which, despite its name, is more of a ridge rising to over 1,500 feet. The Squadron became an entity on joining up with Captain Sidebottom's unit which had made excellent time in support of the Mahrattas. The following extract is from TheTiger Triumphs - The Story of Three Great Divisions in Italy - Chapter 15: "At dawn the chug and roar of tanks announced the arrival of North Irish Horse, only an hour behind the infantry---a magnificent performance for tracked vehicles over such terrain."As the afternoon progressed news came that a German counter-attack was in the offing. Skipper, who had remained aboard the Sherman, decided to go on another foot recce - unfortunately it was to be his last. No sooner had he dismounted when a shell exploded near the tank, and he collapsed seriously wounded. When I reached him he was unconscious and obviously in need of immediate medical treatment. As the Sherman with its sloping front was not suitable, we carried him to a nearby Churchill placing him on the front. Holding on to Skipper, while on the way to the Regimental Aid Post, I was praying that we would reach help in time as we were able to do when carrying Major Russell in similar circumstances the previous May. Sadly, by the time we reached the Aid Post, Skipper was too far gone for his life to be saved, he passed away shortly afterwards. When I was told, I believe by Billy Cleghorne (who had driven me to the hospital in Beja) I wept. Not only had the Regiment lost a brilliant and talented officer, I too, as far as military protocol would allow, had lost a friend. Major William Muir MacKean, at the age of twenty-six, never again would be "putting us in the picture." Utterly devastated, I set off on foot to rejoin the Squadron (the Churchill having already made its way back) to find it was no longer where it had previously been. On learning from some Gurkhas, sheltered in a nearby barn, that the tanks had moved to the top of the ridge, and as it was getting dark, I decided to stay with them for the night. I will always be grateful to those fearless warriors who shared their rations with me. Later, although quite exhausted, my thoughts were such that sleep was a long time coming - the noise of the barn's rats scuttling around in my immediate vicinity was not a help either. At last sleep came until, early in the morning, I was awakened by someone shaking me. It was a Trooper (I cannot remember if I asked how he found me) who had come to transport me to the Squadron's Echelon to join a group going to Riccione for a few days rest. Pausing only to locate Ballyrashane to retrieve my personal gear, that Sunday morning I was on my way to Sogliano to board a Bedford 3-tonner bound for a rest centre by the sea.
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