In 1943, the “soft underbelly” of Hitler’s Europe – as British Prime Minister Winston Churchill termed it – was proving to be anything but to the Allied soldiers slogging their way up the mountainous Italian peninsula.
Facing them was perhaps the best defensive strategist, Field Marshall Albert Kesselring, who made skillful use of the rugged terrain and the high morale of his soldiers to inflict a high cost in blood and slow the Allied advance to a painful crawl.
Among the Allied soldiers fighting their way through mountaintop redoubts defended by Hitler’s armies was Penetanguishene’s Charlie Bell.
Bell was born in Toronto in 1924, and joined the army as an 18-year-old in 1942. He freely admits he didn’t enlist out of a sense of patriotism.
“My three older brothers had already enlisted, and I was home alone. I didn’t think much of that. I suppose I was lonely,” he said. “I thought serving would be an experience, so I tried to join the navy at 17, but they wouldn’t have me. When I turned 18, I tried for the army and they took me.”
After basic training, Bell was assigned to the artillery and went to Cape Breton, where he helped build an anti-aircraft battery to defend Sydney, N.S. At the time, Sydney was a major port for convoys, so defending it was a priority.
In 1943, Bell went to England, where he was posted with the 5th Division.
The first extended campaign for the Canadian army in Europe came when the Allies invaded Italy in 1943. After taking part in the assault upon Sicily in July, the 1st Infantry Division and 1st Army Tank Brigade made an assault landing across the Strait of Messina onto mainland Italy on Sept. 3. This force was soon reinforced by other Canadian units, including the 19-year-old Bell’s 5th Division.
“Passing the Rock of Gibraltar and entering the Mediterranean was an experience. It was a real sight,” he recalled. “But I soon learned I was entering a war zone. Every ship in the convoy had a barrage balloon above, which was intended to keep enemy airplanes too high to accurately bomb us. After passing Gibraltar, we were attacked by the Luftwaffe and the balloon above my ship was shot down. The steel cable anchoring it came slashing down on the boat. Boy, that was scary.”
That wasn’t his most frightening experience, however. That memorable moment came shortly after landing at Naples.
“We had just gotten off the ship and were camped alongside the railroad when the Luftwaffe arrived and bombed a Red Cross train there,” he said. “The air raid was terrifying, and several of our fellows were wounded. The explosions were darn close. That was a real introduction to war.”
While in Italy, Bell was transferred to the Army Service Corps, which was responsible for supplying gas, water, food, ammunition and other vital equipment to the combat regiments fighting their way up the Italian peninsula.
The offensive stalled at the nearly impenetrable Gustav Line, which ran across Italy south of Rome and blocked further advance. Attempts to penetrate the line resulted in some of the bloodiest battles in the war, including the famous Battle of Monte Cassino.
“The Germans had the high point on Monte Cassino, and they could see everything that was going on. We had to take that position if we were to get through,” Bell recalled. “We hauled ammunition in to the artillery there for days upon days leading up to the attack. On the day of the attack, hundreds and hundreds of guns opened fire for hours. The sight and sound was unlike anything you can imagine. The thunder of it was deafening, and the fire lit up the night sky.”
Eventually, the Gustav Line was cracked and the advance resumed. In every village and town they liberated, the Allies were treated warmly by the Italian populace.
“The Italians were our enemy earlier in the war, but, as soon as Mussolini was out and the Italians surrendered, the people welcomed us and we became very good friends.”
Bell spent a year in Italy, but that changed after the D-Day landings in Normandy. Bell went by naval transport from Livorno to the French port of Marseille, then up north to join the Canadian Army fighting its way along the English Channel into Belgium and Holland. He served as part of the First Canadian Army in the final offensives across the Rhine.
Germany surrendered in May 1945. Most Canadian soldiers were looking forward to returning home, but Bell had different plans.
“I volunteered to go fight Japan. I was sent to Georgia for training as an airborne soldier in preparation for the invasion of the Japanese islands. The war ended before we had to invade, though, so I was mustered out of service.”
Though the war ended 64 years ago, the memories remain vivid for Bell. He’s proud of his service, noting his time in uniform made him a man.
“I’d do it over again. For me, it was a great experience,” he said. “Of course, many guys didn’t make it, and for them the war was a real tragedy.”

Trusty Spitfire always brought him home
Although the Spitfire fighter received most of its acclaim for fending off Nazi Germany’s Luftwaffe during the Battle of Britain, its exploits were impressive right through the war and in a variety of roles.
Penetanguishene resident Charles Darrow flew the majestic airplane during the final two years of the Second World War, and has fond memories of the plane and his experiences flying it.
“I wouldn’t have missed flying the Spitfire for anything,” he said.
Darrow was born in Toronto in 1922. He grew up through the hard times of the Depression, when dinner often consisted of cornmeal pancakes with butter. He studied machine shop in a technical school, and got a job at DeHavilland Aircraft making parts for Tiger Moths and other airplanes.
When war broke out in 1939, Darrow wanted to join the air force, but severe sinus trouble prevented him from immediately attaining his goal of becoming a fighter pilot. He had to spend six months getting his sinuses drained before he was deemed fit to fly.
Darrow underwent pilot training, but didn’t get a commission, so he was sent overseas as a sergeant pilot. To his eternal joy, he was assigned to fly Spitfires with 416 Squadron.
“The Spitfire was a beautiful aircraft, and its manoeuvrability and ruggedness saved my butt a few times,” Darrow recalled from his Penetanguishene home. “I had one shot to pieces and still manage to get back home. That’s how solid the Spitfire was. She was a lady to fly.”
Darrow saw his first action after D-Day, by which point the Luftwaffe had been all but chased from the skies over France. The Spitfires of 416 Squadron spent most of their time patrolling, dive bombing, and in strafing attacks. Pilots flew on alternating days, generally three missions per day.
Flying became a routine, but, even though German aircraft were rarely encountered, there was always an element of danger.
“You left your parachute in the cockpit the night before you were scheduled to fly. The next morning, you went for briefing well before dawn and got into your airplane when it was still dark. You took off, returned for a quick bathroom break and smoke, then repeated,” Darrow recalled.
“One time, I returned from my second mission and was told by the ground crew that my parachute needed to be repacked, so they gave me a new one. When I returned later, I was told someone had packed my first chute with blankets!
“The silk of the parachute was extremely valuable, so someone had stolen it during the night. I guess someone’s girlfriend got a nice silk wedding dress. It was a good thing I didn’t need to bail out.”
Darrow admitted to being scared a lot during the war, but reasoned if everyone else could perform despite their fears, so could he. It also helped that he flew with “some very intrepid guys,” men whose heroism inspired him.
Still, there were moments of sheer terror that proved impossible to forget – and that remain vivid to this day.
“There was one time that stands out when I was scared as hell,” he said. “We were escorting American Marauder bombers into Germany when the No. 2 aircraft in our formation called and said he couldn’t switch to the main tank from the drop tank, which meant he was going to run out of gas. Our CO told him to return home and for me to go back with him.”
They made for the quickest route out of Germany and could see the River Rhine and the French border in the distance when Darrow’s wingman indicated he wasn’t going to make it. He was running on empty and losing altitude fast, and would have to bail out over enemy territory. Things were about to get worse.
“We were under 1,000 feet at the time, and suddenly two anti-aircraft guns opened up on us. I couldn’t attack the guns since my wingman was going to go down nearby and I didn’t want them to take revenge on him, so all I could do was try to evade them,” Darrow said. “The guns had me in a crossfire. Bullets were screaming around me as I slid and jinxed my aircraft. It was a hairy three minutes, but they never got me.
“I was just out of their range … when I flew over another group of flak and had to go through it all over again. Boy, was I scared. When I got home, I kissed the ground.”
The terrifying experience didn’t sour Darrow on flying, however. After the war, he joined a reserve squadron in Toronto and became its CO, retiring as a wing commander. Even today, many years later, he remains passionate about flying, about fighter aircraft, and about the men with whom he served.
“I flew with some great guys and had the opportunity to fly the Spitfire, one of the most beautiful planes of all time,” he said. “It was an experience I would happily do again.”

Veteran hesitant to speak about war service
Richard Olsen doesn’t like to talk much about his experiences during the Second World War.
This isn’t due to the painful memories, but rather because of shyness and a firm belief that, despite giving up five years of his life and serving in three campaigns, he didn’t do anything particularly noteworthy.
“I’m no hero,” the 90-year old said. “I just did what I was told – and I was young, so I didn’t know what fear was.”
From his room in the Villa Retirement Centre, Olsen reflects back on wartime service that took him to France, the deserts of North Africa, Italy and, ultimately, a Germany ruined by war.
“I was born in Kent in 1919,” he said. “When (the war) began in 1939, the government called up 20-year-olds for service, and I was sent France after only three months’ training. I wasn’t really the army type; it was like fitting a square peg into a round hole.”
Olsen became a truck driver in the Royal Army Service Corps, responsible for delivering vital supplies to the front lines. He had little to do during the so-called “Phony War,” when German and Allied armies did little more than stare at each other across the Franco-German border for more than six months.
That changed suddenly in May 1940, much to Olsen’s horror.
“When the Germans attacked, it came as a complete shock. The sky was black with German planes and their tanks advanced so quickly that we were thrown back in chaos,” he recalled. “I was sleeping in a barn at the time, and the attack happened so fast I was forced to leave all my belongings behind.”
The British army was thrown in a headlong retreat that only ended when it had its back against the English Channel in the port of Dunkirk. There, squeezed in an ever-tightening cordon, it seemed to all as if the entire British Army would have to surrender.
“I was on the beach with hundreds of thousands of British and French soldiers. There was no panic, though, because we were sure we would be rescued by sea,” Olsen said. “I spent four days sleeping on the cold, wet beach and scrounging for food before it was my turn to board a ship for transport to England.
“It was a coal ship, and there was no room in the hold to sit down. We were jammed in like sardines. I was black as the ace of spades when I got off the ship.”
Olsen spent the remainder of 1940 in England, guarding the coast against a threatened German invasion. He then volunteered for service in North Africa.
“I was single. I had no worries, no cares,” he explained.
Olsen saw service throughout 1941 and ’42 against Erwin Rommel’s famed Afrika Korps, participating in the British victory at El Alamein and the drive through Libya and Tunisia that saw Axis forces driven from North Africa.
“People don’t realize how cold it gets at night in the desert. It’s as cold as winter, and you have to really bundle up to stay warm. And when it rains, it rains so much the sand is turned into a sea of mud. We were bogged down to our truck axles, but so were the enemy, so the fighting would stop for a while,” Olsen said. “I was lucky enough to see the pyramids and swim in the Mediterranean, things most people don’t get to do, but I also remember how terribly poor the people were.”
In 1943, the Allies invaded Sicily and mainland Italy. Olsen’s unit remained in Tunisia until 1944, when it landed in a liberated Rome. The next year was spent driving the German army north in what Olsen described as a slow, painful slog that saw the Allies fight for every mile gained.
“They wanted to train me as a mechanic at that time, but I said, ‘No way.’ Spending days under a truck wasn’t for me, so I spent the entire war as a truck driver. I enjoyed what I did, so why change?”
Olsen’s war ended in Germany, where he witnessed the devastation wrought by six years of fighting. The sight of ruined cities and desperate poverty left him with a lifelong disdain for warfare.