Even before it became light, we set off determined to resist the temptation to stop in Rome knowing, once we were through the Eternal City, the chances of being stopped by a Red-cap were considerably reduced.

As we stood watching what seemed to be thousands of people lining all sides of the square, upon which there appeared to be a race-track of sorts, two handsomely robed gentlemen approached us. One, who had a good command of English, asked had we come to see the Corsa del Palio. On replying that we were just stopping on our way to Florence, he insisted, as liberators of his country, that we must stay and as honoured guests we would be seated on a stand that had been erected on one side of the square. Thanking him for the kind offer but it was one we could not accept - we had been entrusted to transport some "valuable material" vital to the well-being of our Regiment, therefore we could not leave our transport unattended. Apparently, the two of them were persons of some considerable importance, as they were able to assure me that the vehicle would be guarded by a Poliziòtto while we were enjoying the afternoon's spectacle. After a member of the local constabulary had arrived to protect the Bedford 15-cwt we were escorted to the stand where we were introduced to many of the local dignitaries. To our surprise we were given prime seats as befitted those of such an "honourable status."

 We witnessed, on that wondrous afternoon, the return of  a centuries old pageant "Corsa del Palio" that had not  been presented for a couple of years due to the war. Our  friendly host gave us a running commentary, much of  which I have forgotten, explaining the significance of the  various ceremony's colourful segments. It was an interesting combination of traditions, both religious and secular, culminating in horses, both with riders and without, running clockwise for several laps around the track.

Very reluctantly, we had to turn down a kind offer to attend a post-pageant dinner, pleading that the supplies we were carrying were urgently required at our unit stationed on the Adriatic coast. In truth, we were getting somewhat concerned, although we had not tapped any of the jerricans, about the fuel situation, not knowing whether or not there was a POL dump in the that part of Italy. Following the many goodbyes, we returned to our waiting transport to find it in good shape, thanks to the Italian bobby who was pleased to accept one of our diminishing stock of cigarettes. After driving about half of the sixty miles to Florence on Hwy 222 (Via Chiantigiana) we decided to call an end to what had turned out to be a most enjoyable day.