63705 Sergeant William McKinlay, (24/1/1914-8/5/1944). "the worst damage"

William McKinlay was employed as a clerk in Napier when he joined the army in 1942.  He slogged up the Italian peninsula with the 18th Armoured Regiment and participated in the grueling Battle of Monte Cassino.

The road forward to the station was terrible. The only way up was along the narrow railway embankment and across the Rapido by a shrapnel-riddled bridge, an impossible trip in daylight and next to impossible even at night, the tanks pitching blindly nose down and then nose up through shell-holes, every spare inch of inside room crammed full of ammunition. The men had been prepared for a few fireworks when they drove up in their great noisy Shermans, and they certainly got what they expected. Spandaus from straight ahead, their tracer streaking through the dark like a swarm of falling stars, mortars bursting thick round the tanks as they drove up and edged in behind their wall.

This performance was turned on every time the tanks changed over. As soon as Jerry heard them moving, down came the fire. As long as the engines kept running the metal kept flying. But, as Captain Stan Edmonds says, ‘it usually quietened down when tanks ceased to move and there was no offensive action on our part’. Even then there were still mortars landing every few minutes, and almost continuous Spandau fire which zipped across the tanks' front and past the end of their wall, and rifle grenades fired from the waste land ahead.

Life at Cassino station was about as bad as it could be. The whole place stank of death. The bomb-holes were full of brackish water covered with green slime. During the daytime, even when no mortars were falling, our own smoke canisters were constantly whistling down all around. Everybody was filthy, unshaven, perpetually on edge for whatever might happen the next second. Almost underneath the tanks, in holes under the sheltering wall, lived the British infantry. The tankies had a dugout only a few feet away and trenches under the tanks. Everyone had a rifle or a Tommy gun, and all the Browning machine guns were taken out of the tanks and mounted on the ground, some of them pointing out through little holes in the wall, which also served as peepholes through which you peered out into Jerry's territory as far as the foot of Montecassino. Not that you could see anything, for Jerry was as careful as we were not to show himself in daylight.

‘This was the only time,’ says Reynolds, ‘when I felt sure I wouldn't see my home again.’ Everyone was certain that Jerry knew just where the tanks were, and nobody could forget that some night he might take it into his head to knock the wall down and leave them exposed. But he didn't do this. The worst damage was one night when a mortar salvo fell right on the spot during a changeover, killing Sergeant Bill McKinlay and wounding three others. -Official History of the 18th Regiment.

FOR THE EMPIRE’S CAUSE

McKINLAY. — Killed in action in Italy, William David, elder son of Joanna McKinlay, Lancaster street, Lawrence, and the late James McKinlay, of Miller’s Flat and Queenstown; aged 20. Deeply mourned.  -Otago Daily Times, 16/5/1944.

Andersons Bay Cemetery, Dunedin.