War pilgrimage already a trip too far for some veterans

By MICHELE HEWITSON

On March 25 the letter arrived. "Dear Thomas," it read, "congratulations, I am pleased to advise you have been selected from the RNZRSA ballot to travel to Monte Cassino ... "

Tom Hanna was almost speechless with delight and disbelief. "Oh, I was thrilled," he managed.

On the form sent to him by Veterans' Affairs, in his spidery writing, with his good ink pen, he wrote in response to a question about how he'd feel about revisiting Monte Cassino 60 years on: "It will be an exciting few days no doubt!! It certainly will be a memorable time to recall the actual battle, particularly because of old friends who are no longer with us!"

Between the lines of the sentiments and the exclamation marks you can decipher the sadness, and the excitement.

You might think that Cassino, a messy, bungled battle, is the last place on earth to which anyone who fought there would want to return. But when it was announced the Government would take, first 20, then 50 veterans back for the 60th anniversary commemorations, Mr Hanna, and another 311 vets applied to go.

On Tuesday this week he told the Herald: "I'm still in a daze right now." His GP had given him "a good record healthwise" but the Army medics were "a bit worried". If he found he couldn't go, he said, "Oh, I'll be absolutely heartbroken."

Tom Hanna had a stroke seven years ago and words sometimes, frustratingly, elude him. He is on a walker, although he gives a very handy demonstration of how he can play left-handed bowls: the bowls sit on the tray of his walker; he hangs on to its side. He has had "three hips". And he was "absolutely determined" to go to Cassino.

On Wednesday, Mr Hanna opened his second official letter. It told him that he had been declined medical clearance to go. He was, as he had predicted, absolutely heartbroken. That night he had two whiskies.

On Thursday at home in Remuera, with his two letters and precious old yellowed newspaper cuttings about his singing career spread on the dining-room table, he puts on a brave face.

He wants to talk about Italy. But the Italy he wants to talk about was after the war, when he was accepted at the Florence Conservatorium of Music. He went on to win aria competitions here and Australia. His first formal singing lessons were in Italy, but the newspaper cuttings tell us that during his service he had sung a few ballads "and a few Itie folk songs I picked up" for the boys "in the open air aided by some Italian plonk."

Jessie Gunn, director of Veterans' Affairs, is the person with the unenviable job of breaking the bad news. So far, of the 50 veterans who won the ballot, six are now not going on the Air Force plane.

They will be replaced by those from a standby list of 20, but some still have to receive the final go-ahead.

"This isn't a Sunday picnic. We've got a 13-day trip with seven of them spent flying," she says sadly. On top of all of that ... you must super-impose the emotional impact, and we can't underestimate that. They've got their own coping mechanisms but once the emotions click in, boom, they've had it."

In Tom Hanna's lounge we're looking at his photos. Here he is with the boys. He's one of the many holding a rollie cigarette in one hand and a quart bottle of beer in the other. On the back is written: "Xmas Day, 1943, Italy." They all look dirty and tired and happy to be having a day off.

He looks at this picture, but not for long. There's little point now.

At the end of his drive, seeing us off, he's still upright as a soldier on parade - behind his walker.