It was February 1941, and we had taken part in the successful advance in the Western Desert, along with the Seventh Armoured Division (the 'Desert Rats'), against the Italian Army which appeared to have lost all interest in the war.

Eventually the crunch came and in their hundreds and thousands the Italians threw down their arms and surrendered to the British forces. It was an amazing sight to witness column after column of these dejected soldiers shuffling along in the desert sand on their way to captivity.

This, however, presented the British Army with a major problem. Already our supplies were getting through with great difficulty, with all our food, water, ammunition and fuel having to be brought the hundreds of miles from Egypt.

The R.A.S.C. were only just about able to manage to maintain the regular service of rations and other essential supplies for our troops. But what about the thousands of prisoners of war? Now they needed to be fed - but there were no rations available.

The brigadier sent out a call for volunteers, so I went along to H.Q. with a driver and a three-ton truck. Here I was 'given' an Italian Army officer who fortunately spoke a little English. He was under orders to lead me to a supply dump where we could obtain rations for the P.o.W.s. We did not need to travel many miles before we came across a camp that had been deserted by the Italians, leaving food and ammunition behind. On the way we had picked up four stragglers who had gratefully accepted a lift on their way to surrender.

With great eagerness, they loaded numerous cases of tinned food on to our vehicle as I looked around the camp with their officer. He told me that he was "grateful for my kindness" and would look for a souvenir for me. Eventually he said: "Would you like this that I have found, sergeant?" He handed me a small revolver about the size, I suppose, a lady would keep in her handbag. He told me he had found it in a tent, which had apparently been used by a senior officer.

As I have said, he just handed it to me, along with a box of ammunition. He could, no doubt, have threatened me with it, but he had previously told me that he was fed up with fighting and would be quite happy to spend the rest of the war years as a prisoner.

I kept that revolver with the intention of bringing it home with me (whenever that time arrived). However, in February 1944, when we were in Italy, just before we took part in the attack on Monte Casino, I was approached by a Canadian sergeant who said he had heard that I had a small pistol and ammunition.

He was shortly returning home and would like a memento. Was I prepared to sell him the revolver and ammo, he asked. I considered the matter for a short time and then realised that it would be foolish of me to take a thing like that home, so I agreed to let him have it. He was delighted and paid me £25 for it - a huge sum of money at that time.

I have often wondered what happened to that Italian officer - and to the revolver.

- Arthur Cope