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PART 3

One day towards the end of 1943 there was a special buzz at the chateau. Word went round that persons of importance were arriving. They proved to be Brigadier Fitzroy Maclean and two or three more officers. It was judged that the time had come for the

Allies to send men in addition to arms to the Partisans and the Brigadier was to drop by parachute to help to organise and co-ordinate their operations. The successful ‘drop’ led to the expansion of this policy and to my next move. Airfields in North Africa were too far from the Yugoslav forces. However, by Christmas the Allied invasion of Italy had been consolidated and it was safe to move units like ours on to the Adriatic coast of Italy. We were moved back (again in cattle trucks) to Philipville, halfway between Tunis and Algiers (I think the name has now been changed to Skidka since Algeria gained its independence from France). No convoy this time; only a small-sized Belgian liner the ‘Ville d’Oran’, which according to rumour was to take us over at speed to avoid submarine and air attack. We left port in the evening and sailed in a completely blacked-out ship — no smoking anywhere on deck! - and were obviously travelling fast. The wake of the ship was phosphorescent, shining silver in the moonlight and in the absence of any artificial light whatever, the stars shone in the sky in millions. None of us slept that night and early in the morning we spied land and a snowy mountain peak, which turned out to be Etna in Sicily. After a brief stop in Syracuse we continued on to Taranto. From there more lorries took us overland to the little town of Monopoli. The population in this particular bit had clearly not seen many of the invaders and it seemed as if the whole population had turned out to wave and cheer. It was my own little bit of ‘liberation’ experience.

We settled into a villa on the outskirts of the town. To get to the town centre one had to cross railway tracks, which always seemed to be occupied by a slow moving freight train. However, we found that we could find an occasional truck that had a sort of observation platform at the rear end and we used to climb up one side and down the opposite one and then drop off about thirty yards up the line. I don’t think anyone ever got — what would you call it — train-jacked? My first job in Monopoli was an off- shoot. The organisation acquired a few small fishing vessels and I was clerk to the Shipping Officer whose job it was to organise cargoes of arms and ammunition for them, which would then be slipped across to the islands off the coast of Yugoslavia under cover of darkness. The trouble was there were no port facilities. We calculated what would go into the tiny holds and then, if we had say a field gun to load, we allowed packing of the hold to continue until the side of the boat was level with the quayside and then the big stuff was rolled on and secured on the deck. Whereupon, if there was more room in the hold, loading would continue once more. This activity did not last long. The Yugos were friendly and would frequently produce bottles of an innocuous looking colourless liquid and offer us a drink. I accepted once but never again! I think it was pure alcohol with a kick like a mule, as they say. I had a headache all afternoon!

The first night we were free we made for the town in a body and were soon sampling the local vino which, is a very sweet and heavy kind of vermouth. After a few of these I needed to go- that is ‘to go’- so I went outside without saying anything. Once outside I realised that the world was getting a bit woosy, so to avoid any trouble, as I thought, I set off ‘home’. Apparently I was not missed for about another hour, by which time everybody in the party was well past a breathaliser test. The poor loyal souls scoured the town for me until well after midnight. You can imagine the language when they found me sound asleep back at the villa! The Headquarters of the organisation was at Bari, a large town about forty kilometres up the coast. This was where we spent our time off. We saw various shows put on for the troops and I attended several orchestral concerts performed by a motley collection of Italian musicians — they were really quite good.

The policy of dropping teams of liaison officers and a radio operator to help organise the Partisans was developing. The ‘operational personnel’ (to use their official title) were volunteers drawn from all sorts of units of the British and Commonwealth forces. They were given instructions in parachute jumping and then had to wait in Bari until arrangements could be made for them to fly over. This involved having those on the ground light signal fires to guide the plane. Of course there were many snags and hold-ups, from engine trouble or bad weather to German attacks or difficulties on the ground. It soon became clear that having personnel waiting in the populous town area presented a security risk. To counter this, a drastic step was taken to evict the Italian population from a small hamlet of villas and cottages about five miles inland from Monopoli called Castellana. I can remember the hapless and tearful Italians standing in the pathway around their belongings, waiting for lorries to take them to alternative homes in the town. However, on the whole they made the sacrifice with a good spirit. I later visited one family (only making the mistake of arriving during the afternoon siesta taken by all the populace) and was given a friendly welcome. The largest and most luxurious house was taken for the officers and we were scattered about in the small, primitive cottages. Here the men awaiting their great adventure could stay out of the public eye. The next idea from Headquarters was to affect me personally. It was decided that the waiting time could be used to advantage by kitting out the men and giving them weapons training and keeping them generally fit. A PT instructor was appointed and one of the houses was prepared to receive and store a whole range of special equipment from parachute helmets and clothing, especially sheepskin coats for protection against the bitter winter in the mountains of Yugoslavia, revolvers, submachine guns, compasses, binoculars and survival items like water purifying tablets and battle dress trousers with two specially shaped buttons, one of which would rest on a point on the other and was magnetised to act as an emergency compass. In ME 53 there was no provision for anyone to run the store and as a makeshift they deputed a corporal and a storeman and told me to keep the records of of receipt and issue of the stock. This was about March 1944. In the next nine months the store grew in complexity and importance and we began to receive visits from all kinds of specialist units like the Commandos and the first formation of the SAS. As well as combatants we had war correspondents and politicians going ‘into the field’. There were three or four officers attached to us who acted as guides and mentors to the volunteers. They were called Conducting Officers and we saw a lot of them as they brought their charges into the store each day to advise on equipment and arms. The most glamorous figure to take part in the operations with the Partisans was the Prime Minister’s son Randolph Churchill. I did not meet him but we heard many tales about him, not generally complimentary because he apparently demanded VIP treatment even in the most difficult circumstances. People I did see (not to talk to in my lowly rank) were Julian Amery, Churchill’s son-in-law, Evelyn Waugh, the novelist and war correspondent and the journalist Godfrey Talbot.

Because of the valuables in our stock I was required to sleep in the store alone. I did not mind this but one morning in March or April 1944 the dawn seemed a long time coming. The sky remained overcast and although I had a feeling that I had ‘had my sleep out’ I turned over and dozed on. I was awakened by a thunderous knocking at the door and thinking that it would be one of the lads I went to open up clad in only underpants. To my horror I was confronted by two officers who demanded to know what I was doing undressed at that time in the morning. However my alibi was a good one, which they accepted. The state of the sky was accounted for by the massive eruption of Mount Vesuvius that night. Although over a hundred miles away, the ash and smoke from the crater had blown in our direction and literally turned day into night!

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