The building in which they found themselves was the Castello di Montegufoni, the property of Sir Osbert Sitwell, novelist, landowner, and centre of a literary set that included his celebrated sister Edith, T S Eliot, Wyndham Lewis, Ezra Pound and D H Lawrence. For now, however, the Sitwells had gone, and the Castello had become the headquarters of the Mahratta Light Infantry, an Indian battalion that had occupied the castle in the wake of the Germans who had just pulled out. The battalion's commanding officer was asleep, so my father and Vaughan Thomas took a stroll around the castle. In one courtyard, they noticed, to their surprise, three or four pictures propped up against a wall. They seemed old, with dark paint on wooden panels and some tarnished gold. There was a Virgin and Child, a painted crucifix, but whether they were genuine or copies was hard to say. Then, in a room off the courtyard, they found more pictures, some in wooden cases, others in brown paper, or simply removed from their frames and leaning against the walls. Suddenly, Vaughan Thomas, who had been exploring deeper into the castle recesses, came rushing back. 'The whole house is full of pictures,' he said, 'and some of the cases are labelled. They've come from the Uffizi and the Pitti Palace!' My father followed him back. There, stacked against the wall, were pictures in their hundreds, and some they began to recognise. 'But that must be...' And 'Do you think it is...' they said to each other. Then, pointing to a magnificent battle scene, Vaughan Thomas shouted: 'Uccello!' and in the same instant my father spotted a tragic Madonna in dark robe and golden background. 'Giotto!' he cried out.
     My father takes up the story: 'Now Vaughan Thomas is a Welshman, more volatile than I, quicker off the mark, swifter in movement, and while I remained, in a pleasant stupefaction, before the gaunt virgin and the broad-bottomed cavalry, he was off in search of other treasures...a helpful Italian took down the shutters from the far end and let in more light. Then I heard a sudden clamour of voices, a yell of shrill delight, and Vaughan Thomas shouting 'Botticelli!' as if he were a fox-hunter view-halloing on a hill. I ran to see what they had found, and came to a halt before the Primavera.
     'I do not believe that stout Cortez, when he first saw the Pacific, stood silent on a peak in Darien. I believe he shouted in wordless joy, and his men with waving arms made about him a chorus of babbling congratulation. We, before the Primavera, were certainly not mute...'
     At this point, a little man in grey tweed knickerbockers suit appeared. This was Professor Cesare Fasola of the Uffizi Gallery, and this was the first time he had managed to see his beloved pictures since the Germans had left. He explained that they had been taken from the Uffizi, the Pitti palace, the Accademia, and other collections, in case of bombardment. Some had gone to neighbouring castles, but the cream of the collection had come to Montegufoni. Luckily, so far as he could see, they had survived intact.
     My father and Vaughan Thomas went to rouse the commanding officer, Colonel Leeming, and explained to him the value of the pictures and the importance of protecting them. He understood at once, and placed sentries on the doors, while my father and Vaughan Thomas drove to the headquarters of the Indian Division to reinforce the message.

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