Churchill's Hellraisers. Damien Lewis
At one juncture a tin of bacon spontaneously exploded. It must have been damaged during a drop and the contents gone off, the pressure of the gas caused by decomposition building up inside the tin. It sent everyone into a panic, diving for their weapons. If the German gunners heard it, they didn’t seem inclined to respond. US artillery was hurling forward a constant barrage of fire, so what was a tin of exploding bacon between enemies?
On the morning of their fourth day in hiding, the Maquis led a group of figures into Farran’s position. Overnight, the 88mm gunners had collapsed their camp and melted away. Docteur Topsent had brought with him the crew of an American armoured car, who were riding at the vanguard of the advancing US forces. Farran and his men were so overjoyed at seeing them that they danced a highland jig on the spot.
During a month of such operations deep behind the lines, the SAS commander and his men had been under enormous nervous strain. It wasn’t a moment too soon to have been relieved. So began the squadron’s long drive back through liberated France, during which Farran was able to observe the burned-out skeletons of staff cars and trucks that they had destroyed, as they’d wrought carnage among the enemy across northern France.
Farran would be awarded a DSO for his actions, the citation for which speaks volumes: ‘Confirmed damage, inflicted upon the enemy by the small force under Major Farran, amounted to approximately 500 killed or wounded, 23 staff cars destroyed, 6 motorcycles, and 36 vehicles including trucks, troop-carriers and a petrol wagon. In addition a dump of 100,000 gallons of petrol was destroyed, a goods train taken out, and . . . much essential information and bombing targets passed back by W/T.’
‘W/T’ stood for wireless transmission – reflecting the ability of Farran’s signallers to radio back target coordinates.
Of the Châtillon attack in particular, Farran’s citation stated: ‘at least 100 Germans killed and a considerable number wounded, while SAS casualties were 1 killed and 2 wounded. This well-conceived and brilliantly-executed operation caused the enemy to mistake Major Farran’s squadron for the advance elements of the US 3rd Army and therefore to withdraw from Châtillon sooner than necessary. His personal courage, initiative and tactical sense, enabled him to direct his small force with minimum loss.’
A week or so after linking up with those advance US troops, Farran and his men arrived back in the UK. They were looking forward to some much-needed leave, before the next behind-the-line mission, most likely northern Europe again – possibly the Netherlands or Norway.
But for Major Roy Farran an entirely different future beckoned, on a mission of untold sacrifice and daring.
Chapter 5
Unsurprisingly, Mike Lees emerged from his epic crossing-the-line mission to a hero’s welcome. His verbal briefings and the sketches he carried of enemy positions electrified Allied high command, while the two Italian resistance leaders – Salvi and Piva – also yielded priceless intelligence. Lees’ record from October 1944 reflected what a star performer he had become in the eyes of the SOE.
‘He is energetic, courageous, fit and willing to undergo physical hardships, and has a good knowledge of Para Military activities for which he is ideally suited,’ concluded Lt.Col. R. T. ‘Dick’ Hewitt, one of SOE Maryland’s senior commanders. ‘An excellent paramilitary officer,’ added none other than Major General William Stawell, head of special operations across the Mediterranean region. ‘He has a most attractive personality.’
Lees seemed destined for higher things. Hewitt and Stawell’s Special Confidential Report on Lees was rushed to SOE’s headquarters, in London. His record from autumn 1944 reflected the fact that Lees was being shaped for a new role – namely to join the Secret Intelligence Services (SIS, also known as MI6). MI5 – the UK’s domestic intelligence agency – began running deep background checks on Lees, with a view to clearing such a role.
Oddly, MI5 picked up an issue of possible concern. ‘During 1939 and 1940 a titled lady with identical surname, of Lytchett Minster, Dorset, came to our notice as a pacifist propagandist. Her pacifism was based upon religious principles . . .’ MI5 were referring to Lady Madeleine Lees, Michael Lees’ aunt, known as ‘Auntie Maddie’ to all. Thankfully, the domestic intelligence agency was able to conclude there were ‘no grounds for believing her activities intended to be subversive’.
That October a formal application for Lees to transfer to SIS was got underway. Lees duly signed the Official Secrets Act, declaring: ‘I undertake not to divulge any official information gained by me as a result of my employment either in press or book form . . .’
Perhaps unsurprisingly, those at the helm of SOE were less than keen to let Lees go, or at the very least not until the war was won. SOE wrote to the Secret Intelligence Service, agreeing only to ‘submit this officer’s name and qualifications . . . at the termination of hostilities in Europe . . . His name will not be submitted now, as it is felt that his release from S.O.E. at this stage . . . is undesirable.’ A few days later a reply on 54 Broadway headed paper – for two decades 54 Broadway was the central London headquarters of the Secret Intelligence Service – read: ‘Let us leave it that when the time comes that you have no further employment for him, you will let us know.’
While the tug-of-war over Michael Lees was underway, what the man himself hungered for most was getting a flight over the Gothic Line to rejoin Major Temple and his Italian partisans. That autumn Lees found himself in the SOE’s forward base in the city of Florence, which lay just to the south of the Gothic Line. Florence had recently been liberated and was fully under Allied control, and Lees was desperate to find a way to return to war.
His other chief concern, of course, was whether Morton, Long, McClelland and the rest of his original party would make it safely through the lines. The news, when it reached him, was most edifying. It came by telegram in November 1944: ‘Morton and Long with four others arrived by boat at Mentone this morning.’ Mentone was the same ancient port town that Lees and his party had first been taken to, after crossing the lines on foot.
War reporter Morton had commanded a reduced party of just six, including the giant piratical raider, McClelland, plus Sergeant Bob La Rouche, a USAAF air gunner who had been shot down on operations. Forced to leave Pigna village when it had come under enemy assault, they had disguised themselves as Italian country-folk, opting to follow Lees’ advice and seek a sea-borne means of escape.
En route to the coast they’d stumbled upon a piece of priceless intelligence. A partisan leader had passed on captured German documents, including maps showing all the minefields for that section of the Gothic Line. Morton, Long and party had proceeded to sneak through German checkpoints carrying those documents, and disguised in the traditional dress for locals sheltering from the rain – potato sacks.
‘We were able to wear sacks over our heads in the approved peasant fashion, which added to our disguise,’ recorded Morton and Long in their post escape report, penned for the SOE. It was a real dash of ingenuity.
Thus disguised, they’d made it to a friendly fisherman’s house, intending to row across the lines themselves. Instead, he’d offered the assistance of his two strapping sons – seasoned seafarers. Their addition made what had been a daunting voyage something of a pleasure cruise. ‘Once out of mortar, 88mm and machine-gun range we turned broadside to the coast,’ Morton recorded. ‘I unlimbered the bottle of Cognac and passed it around. We started to sing patriotic songs. Fair stood our boat for France!’
Upon reaching Allied lines, Morton, Long and La Rouche personally briefed Colonel Blythe, of the American 7th Army, on their escape. La Rouche and Morton went on to report to Major General Curtis LeMay, a senior USAAF commander in Europe, on all that they had learned. LeMay was keenly interested in their accounts of operations with the resistance. He wanted to build airstrips across territory held by the partisans, to greatly increase the Allies’ reach.
Subsequently Long and Morton appeared on Italia Combatte (Italy Fights), a radio station based in southern Italy, and operated by the Political Warfare Executive, transmitting direct to the Italian resistance. They had emerged from their daring sojourn