After the 14 days, the 2,000 allied men left that shed and were herded aboard the ill fated "Jantzen" and battened down in the holds. Peter was two decks down with some 200 odd men in No 2 hold and on December 9th, 1941 while crossing the Mediterranean sea to Italy, the British submarine "Porpoise", believing the ship was carrying cargo, fired four torpedos, scoring a hit in one of the holds full of men. The Italian crew immediately abandoned ship, bordered the destroyer escort and disappeared over the horizon.

The first thing Peter knew was the terrific noise, the feeling of being blown sky high and then immediately finding himself under water and not being able to swim. He groped down to where his leg should have been and found nothing, just bones sticking out from his knee. Thinking he had lost his leg he continued to fight and tried to swim. So much debris was lying on top of the water that getting through was difficult. He must have got his hand through somehow however, as he suddenly found himself being pulled up. He saw a broken hatch cover floating on the surface and struggled to get onto it. Sitting on this hatch cover was a South African Coloured with a large hole in his chest and Peter turned to say "thanks" but as he did so the man fell off into the water. He must have grabbed Peters hand and died. Although Peter looked for him for some time, he never saw him again. When he looked around he realised that he was still in the hold, but water was sloshing around, with bits of wood, bodies and bits of bodies everywhere.

There was a gaping hole in the side of the ship, big enough to drive a truck through and there were only a handful of men left in that hold. One was his friend and -sub turret gunner, Les Jones.

Immediately a storm sprang up and made conditions even worse. Men were clinging to the sides of the hold where there were some rails. After what seemed like hours of being buffeted about by the sea, some British Naval P.O.W.'s shouted down into the hold and started hauling men up by throwing a rope down and literally lassoing the men and dragging them up onto the deck. Peter was helped out this way. The leg he had thought was lost was in fact somewhere up his back and the sailor who saw this pulled it forward. The leg swelled up at once, so much that his trouser leg had to be cut to allow it to go on swelling. All he had on by this time was his pants - everything else had been blown off. After blacking out and coming to, he found that he had been placed in a cabin. Someone had raided the crews quarters and found a fancy blue silk shirt, which they had put on Peter and the rest of the night was spent trying to stay on the narrow bunk while the storm continued to rage.

The ship was down in the bow with the propeller out of the water most of the time. A German Engineer, who was on board, assumed control and got all the prisoners who were unhurt to go to the stern. This helped the propeller to occasionally hit the water and in "full astern", eventually the ship came to rest on some rocks off the coast of Greece. The ship swayed backwards and forwards and a bout a 45* angle, from side to side, all night, banging against the rocks, but in the morning calm again reigned. Apparently, some survivors, thinking they had reached the shore and safety when the ship struck, had jumped overboard during the night and had killed themselves on the rocks below. This was seen by morning light.

Eventually Peter was taken off the stricken ship by bosun's stretcher, slung to the shore some 100 yards away. With some of the other wounded (he has since found out that between 20 and 30 men from No 1 and No 2 holds survived - most wounded) were taken to what he thought was a school, and the beds were so small that heads and feet hung over both ends. A hospital ship was contacted and the "Arno" was re-routed to pick up the wounded men. After a short stay, they were taken to Pilos Harbour where they were taken to the waiting ship. However as Peter was being carried on the ship by two tall Italians, and air raid occurred and Peter was dropped from shoulder height and the Italians ran off. Two elderly Greek people ran out from a nearby shop and together the pulled the stretcher and Peter, who was firmly strapped in, into their shop. For the first time for days he was offered food - cake and a drink! After the raid the Italians re-appeared and without further ado Peter was put on board the hospital ship. The ship was full of Italian/German wounded and the only space left was the operating theatre. Peter was placed there and the nurse gave him a mirror. It took several minutes for Peter to realise that the image in the mirror was in fact himself. The bloodied, bearded face that confronted him appeared to have holes where his eyes should have been, splinters were in his cheeks, his hair was caked with some bituminous substance. He was unrecognisable as himself.

The ship docked at Naples and the wounded were sent to Caserto Hospital. After some weeks there someone decided at last to look at the wounds and Peters Leg was at last attended to. As there was no anaesthetic, a lumbar puncture had to suffice and his shattered knee was repaired with a piece of copper wire. This was on his 21st birthday. Back in the ward of some 40 men for the next few weeks little or nothing was offered in the way of medical attention and very poor food rations were offered. The place was dirty and the stench of pus and mess permeated the ward. A bed of lice took up residence behind his knee under the plaster cast. The plaster cast was eventually cut off but not before Peter had stuffed several implements such as knives forks and spoons down the cast to attack the maddening itch! Les Jones, whose leg had also been smashed, also lost his voice during the torpedo attack. His communication with others was limited to scribbling on pieces of paper and to frantic hand gestures. One such gesture occurred when having written and been given a bedpan (china) he was placed in position and left, but his heavily plastered leg broke the bedpan and poor Les landed in it! Not being able to speak, he could only make wild gestures until someone saw his predicament and rescued him.

After some weeks the wounded were transferred to Parma, to a very old, almost medieval building which had been a monastery. It now served as a P.O.W. Hospital, with well over a thousand men. Peter was there for just over a year, through the cold Italian winter. The ceilings were very high, some 30 foot or so like great Gothic arches. It was extremely cold, damp, with water running down the walls. His leg became abscessed and as the weeks passed first one abscess would appear on one side of the knee and the next week one on the other side and so it went on for the entire year. These abscesses were lanced each week. One guard would sit on his legs, another on his chest and a third would cut and drain the offending mess. The resulting hole would be stuffed with paper bandages. No proper bandages were ever seen.

Food was spaghetti or rice twice a day and maybe some meat sauce on Sunday. Tea and coffee were anything but the original, now and again and little or no medical attention existed. These conditions lasted for a year until Red Cross parcels arrived to help the situation. When they did arrive however, the Italians took what ever they wanted first before handing the parcels over to the prisoners.

Many men in far worse condition died through sheer lack of attention. Peter's leg would not heal and he was asked to sign a paper to have the leg amputated. He refused, as did several others, and after a time a bone specialist from Milan arrived and Peters leg was again operated on. This time he had anaesthetic and the piece of copper wire, which had caused all the irritation, was removed and given to him as a souvenir.

Many friendships were made during these months and some of them survive to this day. It was through the friendship with Jack Simenson of Napier, that Peter eventually came to "Godzone" One thing that sticks out in Peters memory of Parma, apart from the cold and hunger and that is the kindness of a nun who would visit the prisoners daily and who occasionally brought an egg, concealed under her habit for some badly wounded soldier - a dangerous practice as well she knew but she continued to take the risk. Eventually some new uniforms arrived to take the place of the tattered clothing but the shirts arrived without collar, so this kindly nun took each mans shirt, cut off the tail and made a collar, for just about every man there.

After a year of Parma, Peter was moved to Lucre where the conditions were slightly better, but not much. Not that the Italians were sadistic, as some enemy are but simply food, clothing, and medical supplies were almost non-existent. It was from Lucre in 1943 when the Allies were pushing up through Italy that the prisoners were moved into Germany but those deemed unfit for further military service were repatriated home. Peter's name was on this list and although he tried to stay with his friend and the Army, he was repatriated to Britain. The journey home meant a train trip from Lucre across the French boarder and almost to Paris, then south through France and into Spain, across the Pyrenes, down through Spain and into Portugal and to Lisbon, where a welcoming crowd took the men out and wined, dined and feted them. Most had spent over two years without adequate food and the results for some were quiet disastrous.

They left Lisbon on board the hospital ship "Newfoundland" and the journey took them to the west of Ireland. At the northern tip of Ireland they were stopped by a U-boat and all sorts of dire thoughts raced through the men's heads. Not again! But the captains of both vessels exchanged pleasantries and good wishes came from the German captain to the men. The "Newfoundland" continued down the Irish Sea and finally up the Bristol Channel and it was home to hospital for the men.

Painful months followed while Peter dragged his withered leg around various hospitals, only to be told nothing could be done and the Army was finished with him, Undaunted, Peter took up golf as an exercise, walked and walked slipped and fell and each time the leg bent a little more until walking was almost normal again, and much of his weight was regained.

All sorts of Co-incidences have occurred since, like the time in East Africa 10 years later when the leg again required surgery, this time for the removal of the knee cap. This was determined by a Dr Darlow who had been a P.O.W. and was present for Peters first "op" in Caserta and remembered the butchery. Again 40 years after the torpedo attack on hearing a "Spectrum" Documentary he learned the name of the New Zealand soldier who had helped put him on the bosun's stretcher which took him over the side of the "Jantzen" and 40 years on, was able to visit that soldier, Spence Edge of Whangarei, and say "Thanks, Mate"

Peter is now retired and lives in Queensland Australia.