大象传媒

These are my memories of the finest group of fighting men I know. Six troop, Royal Marine Commando unit.

The unit was well past their training when the diminutive second Lieutenant Denis Patrick Venables O'Flaherty arrived on the scene. He had been hand picked for the job when fresh from Officer Training College. Against the giants of the troop his five foot two looked singularly unimpressive as he was fine boned, slender and with sensitive features. He had been warned that Six troop would put him on trial, giving him a rough time at first. This they certainly did. Any one of their own who accepted an extra stripe was given the 'traitor' ttreatment, as they saluted with punctilious accuracy; and a very short officer was ripe for their humour. O'Flaherty's hot Irish Blood must have been given short rein as his 'lessons' commenced.

With heads held high and backs rigid, the men would stare over the head of their new leader, apparently unable to see him until the 'stand easy' had been given, when, with simulated surprise they would look down with an 'Oh, there you are' expression. Not by the flicker of an eyelid did Denis O'Flaherty show he understood, but the colour of his cheeks often deepened.

Another trick was to demonstrate their ability to hide from site. In a field where they were to assemble for exercises,, it was possible for them to dig two-foot squares of high, grassy turf, prop them up on their bayonets and then lie down behind this shield to await their officer's arrival. He would arrive five minutes before they were due, unaware that they were already in place. Gleefully they would peer through the grass, watching his impatience increase at their apparent laxity. As his impatience grew, they knew to the second when to call 'enough is enough' and as one man, would leap to their feet, ready for action.

They did not have it all their own way. Denis' slight frame was more geared to long distance running than the heavy weights. After a days run he would leap ahead of his troop callind "Come on, you men, hurry up" and be streaking away, reaching camp long before they arrived, panting and ready to rest.

As the R.M. 'green beret' Commandos began to appreciate the gutsy qualities of their little leader and to accept that he was always willing to listen to good advice that their seniority of experience was able to give, they began to wonder how long he would take their baiting. They were soon to find out.

After one heavy day of manoeuvres, O'Flaherty gave the men the evening off to visit the cinema and take their girlfriends out. He joined them at the cinema and afterwards, just as the men were preparing for an amorous walk back in the dark, he called out: "Parade immediately". With barely time to give the dissappointed girls more than a hurried peck, the men had to fall in and await their leader's command. It was long in coming.

Such was their aceptance then of the quality of their officer that it was acknowledged that 'honours were even'.

They went into battle together, to Vaagso, where, amongst many of his men, Denis O'Flaherty received the horrendous wounds which took the sight from one eye, blowing out his jaw and neck, which meant that his head was secured to his shoulders by gold wires. He had charged an enemy stonghold only to be met with sniper fire. Sergeant Darts and R.Gleed (two of 'my' commandos) were with those who helped the plucky young officer out.

Despite his pain and loss of blood, the men were forced to smile as they saw him lash out with his foot at a slow moving German POW making his way to board the craft which was to take them both to the 'mother' ship out in the Fjord. Once on board, the only message Denis would permit to be sent to his family in Ireland was that he was 'slightly wounded'.

Two years later he was pronounced fit enough to fight again and his exploits continued behind his piper. He led the troops when they crossed the bridge to free Singapore. He died at the age of sixty, much loved by all who knew him.

A few months later, these R.M.Commandos arrived from hospital after their exploits in the Norwegian waters. Young-old men, deadly killers, hard bitten, disciplined fighters, these were the Chosen by God to teach me lessons never to be forgotten. Their young, one-eyed major was recruiting beds for his convalescent men. I opened the door at his knock, baby Keith in my arms. I faced him and a sergeant (the latter holding pad and pen for addresses).

The Major explained he required bed and accomodation for his soldiers. I was shocked. "My mother and I and two babies are alone here," I objected , "We couldn't possibly take in any men!" The Major saluted. "I quite understand, madam. Men who have been shot to pieces in Norway might upset you." He turned away and I felt the vilest worm. "I'm sorry," I called, "It's just that you took me by surprise." By this time Mother had come to the door. "My daughter's husband is a Padre in North Africa and I do not think he would approve of commandos living here." Again the Major saluted, his one eye bright with bitter amusement. "No!" I interrupted firmly. "We have one large spare double bedroom. How long do you want your men to stay?" He thanked me as the sergeant wrote busily. "My men are convalescent and they require retraining for two or three weeks at a time to get them fit enough to fight elsewhere." "We can take two," I said, ignoring my mother's hand pinching my arm.
The young Major's wonderful smile shone out as he promised, "I shall hand-pick your men myself."

This he did and until the last man left for Singapore and the far East, we recieved nothing but courtesy and a subtle, warm understanding that changed my life for ever.

I admit to being scared the day my first two soldiers were to arrive. They had the reputation for being the most daring, couragous killers of the war. And Mother was not pleased with me.

The house had belonged to an opera singer and there was an upright grand piano in the sitting room which was naturally Mother's delight. So when, on the first evening our two badly scarred young Commandos arrived and we showed them around the house and one played on the keyboard with one hand, Mother's fears fled. No musician could be all that bad.

From then on all our lives expanded. Daily, our wounded ones would be out, fully kitted to run along the beach, climb the rocks - eventually Snowdon - and return (cursing the salt-encrusted boots that had to be spotless by morning) and pressing their often damp Khaki uniforms. Each week the little Major and a Captain would call to ensure all was well.

My beloved brother, Derek arrived unexpectedly on leave from the Royal Navy. The babes and I shared a room as we only had four bedrooms. All the commandos, the officers and men were great mates with Derek from the word go and I invited the major and captain to join us for dinner occasionally. Derek was very happy about our having the Commandops and that cleared all doubts for Mother and me. Not for Patrick on his one leave. He was jealous, not unnaturally.

One evening when Denis, the major and our other commandos were to have dinner with us, I was in the kitchen. It was dark outside but I could see the blur of a face and called "Denis, there's someone outside." Denis remained with me. The others disappeared silently and returned, holding a dishevelled RAF sergeant by the elbows. It appears our 'landlord' wanted to know what 'hanky-panky' was going on in his house. I invited him to join us for dinner -there would be sufficient. Denis took in the soup but when he reached the landlord, his false eye 'fell' into the dish. Faced by an exaggeratedly apologetic major who fished out his eye and returned to the kitchen, plus four pairs of deadly eyes staring at him, the sergeant submitted to the inevitable and ate his soup. Denis had kept me talking in the kitchen, but Mother sat frozen throughout the whole episode. I was not bothered that way again.

The men's attitude towards Mother was that of teasing sons and she blossomed under their cameraderie. One morning, having left her dentures in the bathroom by mistake, she discovered the commandos had stuck them in an apple on the side-board. Towards me there was a kind of wise/old sympathy for ignorance. Occasionally they would come to the dining room door if I was bottle feeding Keith and just stand silently until he had burped on my shoulder, then move quietly away. On one occasion, Denis asked Mother if they could take me to see a film. Mother assented, even though I was nearly twenty-five years old. I was taken in the jeep and sat beside Denis. Then the film commenced, it was of the Hitler concentration camps. After a few moments, I grabbed Denis' hand and lurched forward feeling vilently sick. Denis did not move and I hung on until breath returned and I had controlled my stomach. Then I released my numb fingers, somewhat shame-facedly and sat quietly through the rest of the film.
After that evening, the men's attitude changed slightly towards me in that they relaxed and told me stories of Denis' courage. Of how, when they had been shot (Denis had over fifty bullet wounds besides losing his eye and the roof of his mouth) and the stretcher bearers arrived. The wounded were collected and Denis was left for dead. Seeing he was not being picked up, his wounded commandos rolled off their stretchers and refused to be carried until he was collected.

That one hand clasp was all the physical contact Denis and I ever had, but on the day all the Commandos were leaving Denis met me by chance at the cross-roads. I was leading Alan by the hand. Denis looked from Alan to me and said softly, "God, those eyes," then asked, "Leila let us die together." My heart thumped and we stared at one another as the traffic rolled past. I yearned to follow wherever Denis led but could not possibly leave my babies. Putting out my hand I almost touched his shoulder. He moved back a step, saluted smartly and left, looking back just the once. Alan and I remained on the road until he had passed from sight, taking my heart with him.

[Continued in "The Royal Naval Commandos"]

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.