by Damien Lewis
For Fiddick, that crawl through no-man’s-land would mark his final act of daring as an honorary member of the SAS, and indeed as a Canadian flyer. He was grounded for the remainder of the war, for he was deemed to know far too much about the inner working of the SAS and the French resistance to risk him falling into enemy hands. He would spend the rest of the war training new bomber crews, before returning to his civilian life in Canada.
On his return to the UK from France, on 2 October 1944, Fiddick was debriefed by MI9. His report typifies the modesty and can-do attitude of the man. In describing his joining up with the SAS and exploits, plus his epic escape thereafter, Fiddick wrote: ‘Twice we were ambushed by the Germans but managed to get away. From the time I joined up with the SAS troops until 29 September I worked with them doing sabotage etc. On 29 September Captain DRUCE, 2nd SAS, and I started off to try to get through to the American lines, as we had special information for the Americans. We started West, crossed the lines and joined the French Army at DOMPTAIL, after walking for 40 hours. We first went to French Headquarters, and from there to the American and French HQ.’
In time, Fiddick would learn what had befallen the rest of his Lancaster crew. George Wishart – the flight engineer who bailed out ahead of Fiddick – was severely injured upon landing, apprehended by the Germans and lived out the rest of the war as a POW. The rear gunner, Percy Buckley, had been killed by the fire from the German night-fighter, during which the mid-upper gunner, Richard Proulx, was also hit and mortally wounded. The radio operator, Arthur Payton, bailed out of the aircraft at too low an altitude and did not survive. His body was found with the wreckage.
Amazingly, pilot Harold Sherman Peabody managed to crash-land the stricken ‘K for King’ without triggering her explosive cargo. He and navigator James Harrington Doe made it out of the wrecked aircraft but were captured by the Germans. They were secretly transported to nearby Natzweiler-Struthof concentration camp where they were executed by a Nazi death squad. This terrible fate also befell many of the SAS men captured on Operation Loyton. Under Hitler’s notorious Kommando Order, they were to be shown not the slightest mercy. Several were tortured terribly, before being murdered in cold blood and thrown into unmarked graves in the forests of the Vosges.
After the war, Henry Druce emigrated to Canada, where he struck up a lifelong friendship with Lew Fiddick. The pair remained close until Druce’s death in 2007 at the age of eighty-five. Fiddick passed away in 2016, surrounded by his loved ones, in his one-hundredth year and after a brief illness.
On 8 October 1944, General Dwight D. Eisenhower, Supreme Commander of the Allied Expeditionary Force in Europe, sent a letter to the SAS’s Commander, Brigadier Roderick ‘Roddy’ McLeod, noting ‘the close of phase one of SAS operations in Europe’. In it, he paid a ‘very fine tribute’ to the men of the SAS, adding, ‘I wish to send my congratulations to all ranks of the Special Air Service Brigade on the contribution which they have made to the success of the Allied Expeditionary Force. The ruthlessness with which the enemy have attacked Special Air Service troops has been an indication of the injury which you were able to cause to the German armed forces, both by your own efforts and by the information which you gave of German dispositions and movements. Many Special Air Service troops are still behind enemy lines; others are being reformed for new tasks. To all of them I say: “Well done, and good luck.”’
Operation Loyton epitomised the kind of mission that Eisenhower had in mind when writing that letter. But despite such accolades as that delivered by Eisenhower, at the end of the war the SAS was summarily disbanded. Senior figures in the British military and political hierarchy had never really warmed to its freewheeling, meritocratic, piratical nature, which characterised many of its foremost operations. This sense is perhaps best summed up by an exchange that took place between Winston Churchill and the then Conservative Member of Parliament for West Dorset, in the House of Commons, several years into the war. ‘Is it true, Mr Prime Minister,’ demanded Simon Wingfield-Digby, ‘that there is a body of men out in the Aegean Islands, fighting under the Union Flag, that are nothing short of being a band of murderous, renegade cutthroats?’
He was referring to SAS and SBS units operating in and around the eastern Mediterranean. While confirming that it was indeed true, Churchill’s response to Wingfield-Digby was typically robust: ‘If you do not take your seat and keep quiet, I will send you out to join them.’ But by the summer of 1945 Churchill had been voted out of power and by the autumn of that year the naysayers had finally got their way: the SAS was summarily disbanded, as was the SBS. Officially, the SAS and SBS were only reformed in the 1950s, when guerrilla-style conflicts in Malaya (present-day Malaysia), Indonesia and Oman showed the pressing need for such specialist units.
In time, the entry criteria for the SAS and SBS were refined into what became recognised as ‘Selection’ – a formal, regimented test taking several months, which is designed to push a man to the limits and beyond. Crucially, Selection built upon the lessons first learned by the pioneers of Special Forces soldiering, in the Second World War training camps of Kabrit and elsewhere. In essence, Selection took what Stirling, Lewes, Mayne, Almonds and others had achieved by trial and error in the early years and shaped it into a structured, gruelling and merciless entry test.
One of the key constants of both the SAS’s Second World War procedures and today’s formalised Selection is that they are designed to test a recruit’s mental strength and stamina as much as their physical prowess. Speak to any SAS figure – whether a Second World War or a modern-day veteran – and they will invariably say the same thing: during the punishing Selection process, there inevitably comes a time when the individual ‘hits the wall’; when the body tells the mind it just cannot take any more. At that stage, it is only mental strength and stamina that keeps the individual going. That mental toughness is the key constant of those who make it into the hallowed ranks of the regiment.
Likewise with our seven great escapers, when all seemed lost, when the odds seemed impossibly stacked against them, when capture and death seemed all but certain, each man found himself possessed of an inner strength to go above and beyond. Each tale is epitomised by such moments: when George Paterson headed back into war-torn Italy, on SOE business, having escaped once already; when Roy Farran refused to give up and die of thirst on the caïque, instead cobbling together the DIY still; when Jack Byrne, apparently facing death in the Sahara, heated the sludge in his water bottle with brandy and forced it down; when Thomas Langton and his men crossed the seemingly impossible barrier of the Qatarra Depression by sheer strength of will; when Jim Almonds crawled into a minefield for the second time in the war, to delineate and circumvent it; when Jimmy Hughes, despite his recent injuries, leapt from the train, to avoid being spirited away to Germany; and when Lew Fiddick, downed airman and honorary SAS, crossed the most heavily fortified frontline in all of Western Europe.
Each escapee endured an impossible-seeming odyssey by drawing on deep reserves of strength and fortitude. Indeed, the selection process was designed to favour such individuals, and to weed out those not blessed with those attributes. But other factors were also key. One of the SAS’s mottos – as true then as it is now – is to ‘expect the unexpected’. In essence, recruits had to be ready for anything when embarking upon behind-the-lines operations. By actively promoting the use of thievery, bluff, deception and rule-breaking wherever necessary, the training process rejected those not inclined to such unorthodox mindsets, while favouring those who were of the firm belief that such things were acceptable – indeed necessary – in times of war.
By stressing the value of ‘merit above rank’ – that respect was not automatically conferred by position but had to be earned – the training process encouraged recruits to think and act on their feet and for themselves. This self-starting, independent-minded spirit fostered a sense of personal responsibility that was vital to our seven great escapees
, as they wandered alone through wild terrain, surviving off their wits and what they could beg, borrow or steal.
Combined with valuing merit above rank, camaraderie was also seen as being sacrosanct. Repeatedly, our great escapees made the extraordinary efforts that they did, going well above and beyond, due to a burning desire to return to their fellows and to the fight. In the SAS, the brotherhood of warriors ran deep. Yet at the same time there was a rigorous pragmatism, embodied in the acceptance that sometimes, if the mission demanded it, a fellow operator – wounded or captured – might have to be left behind. Maintaining that balance, between a fierce, unyielding loyalty and hard-headed pragmatism, was crucial.
There was another type of camaraderie – another brotherhood – that was a founding principle of the SAS in the Second World War, one that underpinned the great escapees’ exploits, one that is summed up in the phrase ‘hearts and minds’. Each of the great escapees had that quintessential factor in common – their ability to build alliances with, and to call on the assistance of, those local to the area of their escape and evasion. In each case – Paterson with his Italian mountainfolk, Farran with his Greek resistance network, Byrne with his Bedouin nomads, Langton with his Senussi tribesmen, Almonds with his rural farming family, Hughes with his Italian partisans, and Fiddick with the villagers of the Vosges – being able to work with and rely on the assistance of strangers was absolutely vital. Arguably, none of the seven would have made it without being open to seeking such help on the ground.
In short, the great escapees depicted in these pages embodied the kind of qualities that made the regiment so special then and now. As just one example of how the free-thinking, unorthodox, audacious mindset that developed during the Second World War has endured, consider the SAS’s 1991 operations in the western Iraqi deserts, when those undertaking jeep-mounted patrols realised the best way to slip past enemy convoys was to gird their faces in Arab-style keffiyeh – headscarves – wrap themselves in thick sheepskin coats to ward off the chill, and speed past the enemy vehicles waving, as if they were friendly troops. With so many different Iraqi units in the field, any number of which used civilian-style 4x4 vehicles and Arabic dress, the ruse proved to work time and time again.
While the weaponry, vehicles, insertion techniques and escape and evasion kit might have changed greatly, the basic tenets of the SAS remain the same today as they were in 1941–45 – proving absolutely that ‘who dares wins’.
Acknowledgements
I could not have written this book without the help of the following people, and please forgive me for any individuals I may have inadvertently forgotten.
Thank you Eve Warton, Second World War WAAF, and Jamie Robertson, her son, for first alerting me to the incredible wartime escape story of George Paterson, who was a family friend of Eve’s husband and godfather to her eldest son. Thank you also to you both for introducing me to longtime family friend Teresa Bonfiglio, George Paterson’s daughter.
Thank you Teresa Bonfiglio, the daughter of George Paterson, for corresponding with me from the USA over your father’s wartime story and for sharing with me what documents, photos, recollections and other materials you were able to, for which I am immensely grateful.
Thank you David R. Farran, son of Roy Farran MC, for corresponding with me over your father’s war years and for sharing with me the documents, photos and family memorabilia such as you were able to.
Thank you Christopher Langton, the nephew of Thomas Langton MC, for kindly allowing me permission to quote from your uncle’s diary and private papers, and for sharing with me family documents and photos, for which I am immensely grateful.
Thank you Brett Fiddick, grandson of Lew Fiddick, and Rod Fiddick, son of Lew Fiddick, for corresponding with me over Lew Fiddick’s war years and for sharing with me the documents, photos and family memorabilia such as you were able to.
Thank you Jonathan Peck, for corresponding with me and sharing documents and photos regarding your cousin, Harold Sherman Peabody, the pilot of the Lancaster Bomber which was shot down over the Vosges, and his aircrew. Thank you Sean Rae Summerfield, for sharing with me and permitting me to quote from your superlative research document Swallowed into Dusk: Missing Airmen during the Second World War.
Thank you once again to LRDG, SAS and SBS veteran Jack Mann, who at ninety-five years of age soldiered through an early draft of the manuscript of this book, to scrutinise it for any mistakes I may have made. To have a Second World War veteran of the unit portrayed do so was invaluable and very greatly appreciated, and especially as the last great escape portrayed, that of Lew Fiddick and Henry Druce, in the Vosges, remains so very dear to your heart.
Thank you Peter Forbes, of the Newtownards War Department Film Club, for reading and checking the manuscript in an early draft and for your perceptive comments.
The staff at various archives and museums also deserve special mention, including those at the UK National Archives and the Imperial War Museum.
My gratitude is also extended to my literary agent, Gordon Wise, of Curtis Brown, for helping bring this project to fruition, and to all at my fantastic publisher, Quercus, for same, including, but not limited to: Charlotte Fry, Hannah Robinson, Bethan Ferguson, Ben Brock, Fiona Murphy and Jon Butler. My editor, Richard Milner, deserves very special mention, as always, as does Luke Speed, my film agent at Curtis Brown.
Thanks also to Tean Roberts, Julie Davies and Phil Williams for your research into the stories as portrayed in these pages. I am also indebted to those authors who have previously written about some of the topics dealt with in this book and whose work has helped inform my writing; I have included a full bibliography.
Finally, of course, thanks are due also to Eva and the ever-patient David, Damien Jr and Sianna, for not resenting Dad spending too much of his time locked away . . . again . . . writing . . . again.
Sources
Note: this book contains public sector information licensed under the Open Government Licence v3.0.
Chapter One
1. Personal communication, Eve Warton, 17/10/2018 – letter of 3/2/2000, opening ‘Dear Eve and Robin, Thank you very much for your card. In this country . . .’
2. Personal communication, Jamie Robertson, 18/10/2018 – ‘SOE Italian Missions’.
3. Personal communication, Eve Warton, 14/10/2018 – ‘George Paterson Canadian 3 x MC SOE Ops Italy’.
4. Personal communication (various), Teresa Bonfiglio, November 2019–February 2020, concerning her father, George Paterson’s war record.
5. Personal communication, George Paterson with Eve Warton (undated), held in Eve Warton’s private papers.
6. Personal communication, Eve Warton, 25/10/2018 – ‘George Paterson SAS and SOE’.
7. Personal communication, Eve Warton, 15/10/2018 – ‘George was Godfather to my eldest son’.
8. Personal communication, Eve Warton, 17/10/2018 – ‘He was a POW with David Stirling in Italy.’
9. Personal communication, Jamie Robertson, 19/11/2018 – ‘More research on George Paterson’s SOE exploits.’
Chapter Two
1. National Archives Catalogue Number: WO 373/4/341 – Recommendation for Award.
2. National Archives Catalogue Number: WO 373/148/427 – Recommendation for Award.
3. National Archives Catalogue Number: WO 373/27/289 – Citation for Military Cross.
4. National Archives Catalogue Number: WO 373/61/692 – Citation for Bar to Military Cross.
5. National Archives Catalogue Number: WO 106/3240 – Crete: Battle of Crete.
6. National Archives Catalogue Number: WO 106/2136 – Operation Compass: Situation and Operational Reports.
7. National Archives Catalogue Number: WO 106/3121 – Forces of Greece: Order of Battle.
8. National Archives Catalogue Number: PREM 3/212/8 – Order of Battle in Greece.
; 9. ‘Kokkinia Prisoner-of-War Hospital’ from ‘Medical Services in New Zealand and the Pacific’ – http://nzetc.victoria.ac.nz/tm/scholarly/tei-WH2PMed-pt2-c1-2.html.
Chapter Three
1. National Archives Catalogue Number: WO 208/3314/1355 – Jack Byrne Escape Report.
2. National Archives Catalogue Number: WO 373/62/565 – Jack Byrne Recommendation for Award.
3. National Archives Catalogue Number: WO 106/2136 – Operation ‘COMPASS’: situation and operational reports.
4. Imperial War Museum Catalogue Number: 29806 – ‘The Archive Hour: SAS The Originals’: Gordon Stevens presents previously un-broadcast interviews with SAS founder David Stirling and other surviving members of the original SAS, recorded in 1987, BBC Radio 4.
5. Imperial War Museum Catalogue Number: 30103 – Lecture entitled ‘Desert Survival Experiences’ given by British civilian J. W. Sillito at SAS Regimental Association, date unknown.
6. Imperial War Museum Catalogue Number: 18032 – Oral History: ‘John Edward “Jim” et al Almonds’ (Windfall Films), Recorded in 2001.
7. Daily Telegraph obituary, Jack Byrne: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/obituaries/1542897/Jack-Byrne.html.
8. Army Apprentice Memorial: http://www.armyapprenticememorial.org.uk/.
9. Shropshire Star article, ‘Shropshire SAS Hero’s Medals’: https://www.shropshirestar.com/news/2010/09/22/shropshire-sas-heros-medals-sell-for-72000/.
Chapter Four
1. National Archives Catalogue Number: WO 201/751 – Operations Agreement, Bigamy + Nicety.
2. National Archives Catalogue Number: WO 201/748 – Report on Combined Operations Bigamy, Nicety, Agreement.
3. National Archives Catalogue Number: ADM 223/565 – Operation Agreement
