This ship was flying the Italian flag with the German swastika at the stern. The passengers were talking of home - but having no prophets in our midst, could hardly tell when we should see England again.We must trust in God - trust and keep on trusting that he who looked after the sparrows should surely have mercy on us.

Darkness fell and the hatches were made fast, and as I tried to get some sleep, could hear the throb, throb, throb of the engines - in the hold, an occasional sigh of 'Oh, God' or the murmurings of one saying 'Darling, how long'. A man in pain would mutter 'Oh, my stomach', as the gripping pain of dysentery tore at his stomach, another nearby is having a bout of malaria and his teeth can be heard chattering, and all around could be heard the curses of men who have just received a blow in the face from the boot of another who has just decided to stretch his legs!

Those long hours seemed like an eternity - with constant attacks of cramp in the stomach and legs which made one wince with pain.

On the second day out from Bengasi, we were allowed to climb up the ladder to the deck, go to the latrine and get a breath of fresh air for a period of five minutes. During this period, a young fellow had climbed halfway up the ladder when he shouted to those below 'Sorry mates, I can't hold it!'.This young man, suffering from dysentery, just dropped his trousers, but the stench was awful for hours - but I suppose one can even get used to foul smells in time!

I did manage to get on deck once during this trip just as we were passing the island of Crete; why we went near Crete in order to get to Italy I never knew. The island looked so peaceful now after its bloody battles of 1941 - Suda Bay, Heraklion, Carea! One could hardly believe that this island of grapevine terraces being the place of horrible slaughter where blood flowed as wine from crushed grapes.

'Non pu aria!' said an Italian guard. 'No more air!'. Was that Italian humour? Oh well, back to that seething mass of humanity below deck, back to the foul air, sweaty bodies and empty guts! When I arrived back, boxes of rations were being lowered into the hold. We had an issue of the usual tin of horse meat and four biscuits instead of one. This was the second issued we had on this trip in nearly three days and were told that it would be the last on the Stella della Mare.

So it looked as though we should soon be arriving in Italy. Another ship was now in convoy with us and I assumed it was full of prisoners like ours.Whilst eating our horse meat, the whole ship shook from end to end. An explosion rent the air, shouts of excited Italians were heard from the deck, and minutes later all hatches were battened down. It was quite gloomy, but the hatch lights have now been switched on. The engines appear to be going faster, as though the order of 'full steam ahead' has been given. It was getting hotter, and one wondered whether it was to be another Black Hole of Calcutta.

The men have got over the initial shock of the explosion and are debating on the possibilities of getting to Italy or to Davy Jones' Locker. One suggests the RAF are bombing the ship; that suggestion is soon overruled as only one explosion was heard. The next suggestion is the right one. An Allied submarine in the Mediterranean has seen two unescorted Italian merchant vessels and has attacked. One was sunk, with all hands and hundreds of Allied POWs.

It could have been this ship, but it was not to be. A few hours later, the engine stopped, and we had arrived in Italy. The hatches were removed and one could feel even here in the bowels of the ship, fresh air sweeping in. We on the bottom deck were told to move out first. Gathering my overcoat which I had bought in Bengasi for £3, and my haversack containing shaving kit, which had never been used since my capture, I climbed the ladder.

Reaching the top, I walked over to the port side of the ship and gazed at the new country. This was different from the sand of the desert which I had seen for nearly 12 months. In the distance, the mountains, and sweeping down to the sea, the terraces of vineyards. This was Brindisi and in the harbour were the Italian destroyers we had heard and read so much about. No wonder the Royal Navy rarely saw the Italian navy - for here at Brindisi were about 25 destroyers tied up - lack of fuel or guts to leave harbour to fight I knew not, but there they were.

Within an hour we were marching along the dusty roads of Italy - in an enemy country, yes, but it was grand to put ones limbs into action once more.