大象传媒

PART ONE 鈥� how I became a member of SOE, and the training I received prior to being dropped into the Field as part of No. 1 Special Force in Italy.

When the War started I was still at school. At the age of 17, I volunteered for the RAF but was not accepted because of my eyesight, so I joined the National Fire Service as a despatch rider until I was old enough to be called up.

I joined the Army on the 16th July 1942. I did basic training with the Royal Armoured Corps in Wiltshire, and was then posted to a Scottish regiment 鈥� the 2nd Fife and Forfar Imperial Yeomanry 鈥� in Barnard Castle, Co. Durham. There I learned to drive Bren carriers and tanks (Covenanters and Crusaders), to understand radio circuits and to become proficient in Morse code.

At the end of 1942 I went to a Physical Training and Development Centre, and spent a freezing January in bracing Skegness, in an unheated holiday chalet. The routine was P.T., body-building, assault course runs and 20-mile route marches with full pack, with occasional dips in the icy sea.

Back at Barnard Castle, I settled down happily to become a signals expert. One day I was called into the CO鈥檚 office and asked if I would care to volunteer for a special mission. He couldn鈥檛 say what, but it might involve some parachute training. Of course I did, and shortly thereafter in October 1943 I found myself a member of SOE as a 19-year old Trooper.

After a short period of training in Oxford, then London, the 鈥楩orce 133 intake鈥�, as I suppose it was, took train for Glasgow and embarked on the m.v. 鈥楬ighland Princess鈥�, bound for Port Said. The voyage took about three weeks, most of it spent in the Atlantic to get to Gibralter. We were, I think, the first convoy through the Med., and we were dive-bombed accordingly by hostile aircraft.

We had a pep-talk send-off by a high-ranking officer before we left Oxford. He would have liked to 鈥渟hout from the housetops鈥� our courage in going wherever it was, but for the 鈥渘ecessity for secrecy鈥�. It was secret from us, too.

I recall playing the grand piano in the London hotel for my colleagues the night before departure (I had served my busking apprenticeship in the pubs of Bolton during my 鈥榯eens for 7/6d a night) but my memories of the 鈥楬ighland Princess鈥� voyage itself are vague, isolated ones: the overcrowding (sleeping in hammocks slung from hooks suspended over the mess tables, and swabbing out the sea-sick residues before breakfast); the Tannoy reveille of music by Borodin; the discovery in the ship鈥檚 library of a book, the 鈥楲oom of Language鈥�, a study in comparative philology, which I read every day until the end of the voyage, and the view of the statue of Ferdinand de Lesseps as we came to our first sight of land.

In vague memory is the attack in the Med., standing on the upper deck with rifles to shoot at aircraft coming within range; hearing that a ship in our convoy had been sunk; that in a dog-fight our front gun had brought down an enemy aircraft and the rear gun one of ours (or vice-versa). I would love to read the official history of that convoy, if there is one. I would also like to find out what happened to the Fife and Forfars 鈥� the regiment I left 鈥� as I believe that they suffered heavy casualties in the French invasion.

We arrived in Port Said in November 1943, thence to Cairo, and finally to Haifa (on top of Mount Carmel) for advanced training. The parachute instruction was at Ramat David, near Nazareth, and I recall having to do four jumps in one day in order to complete the training before Christmas.

Two exercises stand out: the first one was being taken by truck into the desert and left there with a dead radio, flat battery, broken charging engine, a soldering iron, fuel and a code sheet. The idea was to fix the charging engine, charge the battery, repair the radio and send a coded message in order to be picked up again.

The other, together with three officers also in training, was to enter Cyprus ostensibly as British soldiers, obtain details of British bases, installations, troop movements etc. in the Famagusta area and radio them back to base. The snag was that the local Army HQ, and the local Police, had been warned that four German parachutists disguised as British soldiers had landed near Famagusta for just this purpose. We completed our mission, but were glad never to have been challenged.

The move to Italy by sea was from Alexandria to Taranto, and was probably May/June 1944. I was one of a few people 鈥榮elected鈥� to maintain guard over a consignment of gold bullion. It鈥檚 difficult to get to sleep on a tossing ship with a box of gold bars as a pillow.

Following my arrival at Taranto I moved on to Bari and Monopoli. I settled in straight away, but there was a language problem; was I going to be dropped in N. Italy, Jugoslavia or Greece? I had little knowledge of any of them. A decision was made that it was going to be Italy, and I straightaway got hold of every Italian language textbook I could find (there was no formal tuition) and started swotting. Fortunately I had done both French and Latin at school, and didn鈥檛 have any trouble gaining a basic knowledge of Italian.

I鈥檓 fairly certain that our party from Taranto comprised fellow operators, whose names I would probably recognise were a list available, but in Monopoli we didn鈥檛 go round in a group. We were, of course, all privates, troopers or whatever. I understand that I became a Corporal the moment I jumped out of the plane in Italy.

The Base operating unit had perhaps a dozen large receivers, and the experience of actually listening to field signals, through interference, was quite different from any previous formal training. The Base operators (although now after all this time nameless and faceless) were in turn very friendly to me, knowing that I would shortly be sent out there myself as one of their clients.

Monopoli was a delight: freedom from discipline and apparently unlimited vermouth and vino. I recall practising my key skills to maintain my Morse code speed of 30 w.p.m., and sitting in with the resident operators listening out for operational missions. This gave me great comfort when I was myself in the field, knowing that there was a 24-hour listening watch for whenever I was able to get on the air.

When the time came for action, I was impressed by the kitting-out process 鈥� an Aladdin鈥檚 cave where there was a choice of clothing, weaponry and everything to make one feel personally comfortable. Our drop into Frassinoro was, I believe, on the 26th/27th July. Three of us went on the Halifax from Brindisi 鈥� Ernest Wilcoxon (鈥榃ilkie鈥�), an Italian lieutenant and myself. After take-off, we had to return for some reason and try again later. By this time the moon had gone in and we had to drop from a great height and some distance from the DZ.

I had done all my training jumps from the doors of Dakotas, and this was my first 鈥榓perture鈥� jump. I remember it particularly as I hadn鈥檛 fastened my helmet properly and it nearly took my ears off. I was used to 500ft drops, and this one was, I believe, from 2,500 ft. I remember taking out my glasses, putting them on and enjoying the sensation until I had a soft landing in a tree. After retrieving and hiding my 鈥榗hute鈥�, I soon made contact with the other members of the Mission, although I never did see the Italian lieutenant again.

PART TWO 鈥� parachuting into the Central Apennines to prepare the way for the parachute drop of the Italian 鈥淣embo鈥� Regiment, which was abandoned within days because of a German 鈥榬astrellamento鈥�.

On landing near Frassinoro, I knew only that it was supposed to be the wrong place, and so kept a wary eye out for a possibly hostile reception. Eventually I spotted a chap wearing a bright red shirt, who turned out to be part of a partisan search party looking for me. The first day after joining up with the mission was marvellous 鈥� excellent food, and a car trip round the country roads to Villa Minozzo and back. However, it gradually became evident that all was not well, and after a day or so we all had to pack up and trek to the west 鈥� this time on foot. I have a memory of tramping in single file along forest pathways, immediately behind a mule carrying my equipment. Not an inspiring sight and, on occasions, somewhat hazardous. The probability of running into German patrols was increasing, and it was decided that we should split up. We buried my radio set and other heavy items and Charles Holland, Jim Davies and I headed for the hills. These were, in order of encounter, Monte Cusna, M. Sillano, M. Belfiore and M. Tondo. I resolved that, after the war, I would never climb another hill if I could help it.

The weather was fine, but we had little food. Our original idea of joining up with Gordon Lett west of Cisa seemed impracticable and the Cerreto road, which we first had to cross, was heavy with German traffic. We did, however, manage to dash across it at a point near Mattucaso. With help from the local priest (we found them almost always useful allies) we found a guide to take us North, skirting round Comano, which was full of Germans, until we joined up with a group of partisans in the woods on the slopes of the Alpe di Succiso.

After a few days we decided that things had quietened down a lot and so Charles and Charlie Barratt went back across strada 63 to recover the wireless, using a more direct route this time. I well remember getting a charging engine working in a clearing on M. Alto to re-charge the batteries (and incidentally subsisting on a large chunk of Parmesan cheese). Contact with Base took a little time to establish, using signal plan 鈥楨nvelope Blue鈥�, but we were finally back in business. The date of August 20th seems a very likely one.

Jim Davies was busy organising the activities of a group of ex-P.O.W.s, led by Vic Styles, who were happily causing all kinds of havoc on the Cisa road. I wanted to join them in one of their raids, but the idea was vetoed by Charles and Jim. It was rare to see ex-P.O.W.s so motivated; most of those who passed through our hands were terrified of re-capture and wanted only to get back through the lines.

We needed a more permanent base, and moved North towards Miscoso. At Perdera, where we stopped for a few days, a partisan sentry thought he saw something moving one night. He fired, and found he had killed the son of the household we were staying with. We moved on, down into the Cedra valley, where we were greatly assisted by the priest at Monchio. We finally settled at Isola di Palanzano, with the Castiglione family.

It was early September, we were now officially Mission 鈥楾offee鈥�, and I was getting busier. I decided that the only way to cope with the traffic was to learn by heart the complete 鈥榮ilk鈥� transposition table. From then on I never used the silk, but could code or decode by reading straight off the 鈥榦ne-time pad鈥�.

Our first drop was certainly the one at Prato, near Monchio. We had previously walked over the hill to Grammatica and made contact with Ted Hill in Corniglio.

In late September we moved to Grammatica, to be nearer the Comando Unico HQ. We were right at the top end of the village, in case of attack along the road from Corniglio. The daughter of the house was the local schoolteacher, and apart from having my Italian grammar polished up I was able to work my way though her school text books. They were very 鈥榩olitically correct鈥�. The history one, in particular, was almost entirely concerned with the boyhood, youth and subsequent career of Benito Mussolini 鈥� the rest of Italian history was apparently just an adjunct to his glorious life.

The tragic events of 17th October are now well documented. We heard the shots from the direction of Bosco, and had the Germans realised we were in Grammatica they could have easily have come down the hill and wiped us out. We packed up hurriedly and went up the hill towards Riana, and when things had quietened down went back to Isola. In due course orders were received for Jim Davies to make his way back across the lines, and Charles and I bade him farewell.

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