‘Welcome gentlemen,’ said a voice behind Leeming. Leeming turned and watched a slim and very elegant Italian cavalry officer of medium height stride across the courtyard, a slight smile fixed to his face, his polished jackboots echoing on the stone floor. After the sloppy appearance of Colonel Mazawattee back at the Villa Orsini, this new officer looked like he had just stepped off a parade ground. His cap was worn at a slightly rakish angle, with a black belt and cross-strap worn over his grey-green service tunic from which was suspended a leather holster holding a Beretta automatic pistol.4 The two rows of colourful medal ribbons above his left breast pocket indicated plenty of experience. On the cuffs of his uniform he wore the three yellow bars with a star beneath indicating the unique Italian army rank of First Captain. Three yellow stars with a bar beneath also adorned both of his collar patches. Far from the stereotypical Italian, his hair and eye colouring were almost fair, giving him an Anglo-Saxon appearance.5
Two other officers accompanied the captain. On their caps was the large silver exploding grenade badge of the Carabinieri, the Italian Military Police. Second Lieutenant Ucelli immediately stiffened to attention beside Leeming. He saluted the two more senior Italian officers, before turning to Leeming.
‘The commandant,’ he said, gesturing with one hand towards the first captain.
‘Montalto,’ said the commandant, extending his gloved hand to Leeming.
‘Leeming,’ replied the British officer.
‘Flight Lieutenant Leeming, a pleasure to meet you,’ said Captain the Duke of Montalto, Leeming noticing that his English was as flawless as his manner. Leeming was soon to discover that Montalto had attended Cheltenham College, an English public school. He had been selected for his position by Rome, which felt that because the castle was to hold notable British ‘personages’ the commandant also needed to be a ‘somebody’, and with Montalto’s aristocratic lineage and understanding of the British, he seemed the perfect candidate. In contrast, Montalto considered the appointment to be something of an insult – he was a member of an elite cavalry regiment and had wanted to go to the front to fight.6
‘And this is my security officer, Captain Pederneschi,’ said Montalto, indicating the next senior officer beside him, who wore the three collar stars and three sleeve bars of an ordinary captain. Pederneschi nodded slightly but did not proffer his hand; Leeming noticing that his hard brown eyes looked the British prisoners over with barely disguised hostility.
‘Lieutenant Visocchi,’ continued Montalto, indicating the third officer, a young man in his early twenties.7 Visocchi saluted Leeming, who returned his salute.
‘This is Sergeant Baxter, who runs the mess,’ said Leeming to Montalto, ‘Sergeant Price and Corporal Blackwell.’ The three British NCOs stood to attention and saluted. Montalto briefly nodded and returned their salutes.
‘Now, you have much to do, is that not so, Mr Leeming?’ asked the genial commandant.
‘Yes, sir. My orders are to sort out the accommodation and make arrangements for the arrival of our main party tomorrow.’
‘Yes, the generals. I am very much looking forward to making their acquaintances. Excellent. Pederneschi here will show you around and assist you.’ Pederneschi’s cold eyes fixed Leeming’s, his face as stony as the lion that guarded the fortress’s entrance.
Montalto made to take his leave, but then paused.
‘Oh, I nearly forgot. Welcome to the Englishman’s Castle,’ he said, giving a slight bow before he strode off.
Leeming thought Montalto’s comment exceedingly strange, but he said nothing. He glanced back at Pederneschi’s glowering face and then up at the tall grey walls that claustrophobically rose up on all sides and the feeling of dread and helplessness that had taken hold of his stomach ever since he had first spied the castle from the car returned forcibly. How would they ever escape from such a place? ‘We were, in truth, out of the frying-pan into the fire,’ he later wrote.8
*
Leeming, Baxter and the others spent their first night in a collection of small rooms in the lower part of the castle’s keep. Rising early the next morning, they set about the difficult task of preparing rooms for the arrival of the generals and brigadiers. It would prove to be a difficult task because there were so many rooms of different sizes spread across several different floors of the castle. Leeming considered the problem carefully and decided to allocate rooms according to the rank of the individual – meaning that the higher the rank, the larger the room the officer received. It seemed to Leeming to be a sensible solution that should avoid acrimony and debate. It turned out to cause the very confrontations that Leeming sought to avoid.
The rooms themselves were far from unappealing. Each was carpeted and furnished with great taste in the Florentine style. But dampness would make them cold, particularly those bedrooms on the higher levels. Radiators, electric heaters or brick wood-burning stoves provided heating for the rooms.9 Officers shared bathrooms, and the other ranks were provided with ‘shower-baths’.10
The lower part of the keep, as well as containing bedrooms, was given over to a series of public rooms that were to be made available to the senior officers.
On entering the keep, the first room was reserved for the eleven orderlies who would take care of the generals. It was a long room furnished with bunks, benches, stools and wooden tables. Lavatories and washrooms were located nearby. Lower down than the garden, between some medieval cloisters and the castle’s ramparts, was the prisoners’ kitchen, which was fully equipped and modern.11 The kitchen actually consisted of two rooms, one containing an ‘up-to-date range with wood firing’ as well as a scullery, a water boiler and ‘an adequate supply of dishes and kitchen accessories’.12 The second room served as a pantry. Behind the kitchen were larders and storerooms and the orderlies’ dining room, all of which contributed to it resembling the below-stairs servants area of a great country house.
For the generals, the Italians had provided a vast dining hall, with old leather armchairs before a large and very heavy wooden table. Connected to this room was a common room decorated with frescoes and furniture, including a divan covered with cushions. This in turn led to the smoking room, with a stone fireplace big enough to roast a whole ox, then to rooms for reading and writing. These rooms, furnished with armchairs and art, created ‘a very pleasant atmosphere for reading or meditation’.13
*
Back at the Villa Orsini, the rest of the prisoners were preparing to leave for the short journey to Sulmona station, where they would catch the train to Rome and thence to Florence. But the transfer was not proceeding smoothly.
Piled outside the villa was a veritable mountain of baggage and equipment that the senior British officers had managed to acquire or manufacture during their imprisonment. Fifteen large packing cases stood in one pile, beside eighteen suitcases and 27 cardboard boxes full of possessions. Next to this were an uncounted number of bundles tied up with string, beside Air Vice-Marshal Boyd’s two large workbenches. Atop the workbenches were more boxes full of woodworking tools. Leaning against the side of the villa were piles of planks that Boyd had collected to manufacture furniture and shelves.
Brigadier Todhunter’s rabbits sat impassively inside their wood and wire hutches, chewing reflectively on lettuce and carrots, while Brigadier Combe’s hens clucked and pecked inside their wooden hen-houses. The great white dog Mickey sat on the kerb next to his large kennel, also preparing to leave, while his master Lieutenant Ricciardi did his best to calm down Colonel Mazawattee, who was running around and in between the great piles, simultaneously sweating and gesticulating at General Neame and the other senior officers.
Before the great piles stood one small Italian army truck, its driver standing beside the lowered tailgate, also gesticulating and arguing with any of the prisoners who cared to take notice. It was very clear to General Neame and his comrades that the truck was not big enough to accommodate all of the prisoners’ possessions. Herein lay the rub.
&
nbsp; ‘Generale Neame,’ said Mazawattee, scampering up to the senior British officer. ‘You must only take what the truck can hold, no?’
Neame, his arms folded across his chest, looked down at the commandant and shook his head.
‘I’ve already told you, commandant. We are not leaving unless we take all of our luggage with us. I’ve been most emphatic on this point.’
‘But Generale!’ exclaimed Mazawattee, almost stamping one of his jackbooted feet on the road in frustration. ‘It is not possible! You must only take what can be carried in this truck!’14
Neame, one eyebrow raised quizzically, was unmoved.
‘It’s a damned bad show, Colonel, a damned bad show, what?’ said Neame archly. ‘You must find more transport.’
‘No, Generale, no, no, no! It is impossible,’ Mazawattee’s face was by now a deep shade of red. ‘This is the only truck that is available!’ Then he changed tack, his tone suddenly becoming reasonable. ‘It is no worry, Generale, no worry. I will personally ensure that any of your possessions that cannot be loaded on to this truck will be sent on to you tomorrow. You have my word.’ Mazawattee’s several chins jutted out in the style of Mussolini.
‘No, commandant. I’ve made the position of the British prisoners perfectly clear. We’re not leaving without our luggage – all of it,’ replied Neame, the other officers standing near to him nodding or muttering in agreement.
‘But Generale!’ exclaimed Mazawattee, ‘you will miss the train!’
And so the argument dragged on, as Mazawattee and Neame became more and more angry and frustrated.15
*
The last view General Neame and the other senior officers had of the Villa Orsini was of a crestfallen Colonel Mazawattee standing before the grand entrance sulking. His unhappy tenure in command of the awkward British generals was finally over, and Mazawattee should have felt elation. But he had been bested again. General Neame had completely overridden all of Mazawattee’s arguments until more trucks had been procured to take all of the prisoners’ belongings down to Sulmona station. Mazawattee had been forced to stand aside as Philip Neame, enjoying the responsibility, had busily set about overseeing the loading of the trucks, ordering around the Italian sentries that had been press-ganged into helping as if they were his own men rather than his jailors.16 Mazawattee had been reduced to a pouting and unhappy spectator until the little convoy of overladen trucks and cars had finally departed, engines straining under the weight of so much equipment and baggage, and so many bodies. The Villa Orsini would remain empty for a while before fresh prisoners arrived.
*
Arriving at Sulmona station, the generals were pleased to see two junior British officers waiting for them. They had been sent up from the other officers’ camp at Sulmona, and were to accompany the larger party to the castle.
‘Ranfurly, very good to see you again,’ said a beaming Neame, as he gripped Lieutenant the Earl of Ranfurly’s hand. His old ADC had been returned to him at last, and would stay by his side for the duration of Neame’s imprisonment. The other officer was Lieutenant Victor Smith, a Fleet Air Arm pilot who had occasionally visited the Villa Orsini to act as the prisoners’ accountant. The older officers liked him very much.17
Lord Ranfurly had had a very tough time of it since he had last seen General Neame in North Africa. After the Luftwaffe had flown the senior officers to Italy, Ranfurly, along with hundreds of other British officers held by the Italians, had been loaded on to trucks and driven to Benghazi. There they had been crammed into huts – 40 or 50 officers to each small hut – and ‘not allowed out for anything’.18 There were no washing arrangements and the only rations were one ‘dog biscuit’ and a tin of bully beef between two a day. There was hardly any water and very soon dysentery broke out. ‘The Italians would do nothing for us unless the Germans were around,’19 wrote Ranfurly bitterly. After a week of this horrendous treatment, the British officers were loaded aboard Fiat trucks and driven for five days to POW cages at Subrato, twenty miles beyond Tripoli. During the journey through the desert the prisoners were only allowed off the trucks during night-time rest stops.20
At Subrato Ranfurly and the others were put on to starvation rations, receiving only two plates of soup each per day. The Italians also stole from them. ‘I reported this,’ wrote Ranfurly, ‘and was sent to the orderly room. The Camp Commandant gave the thieves six months and me two packets of cigarettes; he delivered the sentence lying in bed.’21
The prisoners’ sufferings were not yet over, for after ten days in the horrendous conditions at Subrato, the British officers were sent by train to Tripoli, locked inside airless freight wagons, 40 to each car. Then they were forced-marched five miles to the docks and put on board a ship. Incredibly, the British POWs were given first-class cabins, good food and deck exercise. This was probably because a German liaison officer came aboard every day to check on their welfare and distribute cigarettes.22 There followed a three-day sea crossing to Naples and transit across the city by bus. Loaded aboard another train, Ranfurly himself fell ill during the slow journey to the main Sulmona POW camp, a final five-mile march almost finishing him off.23 It was with great relief that Ranfurly discovered that the Italians had granted General Neame’s request for his old ADC.
*
Baron Ricciardi shepherded the generals from the cars towards the long steam train that sat idling at the platform. A younger Italian officer, who was a good deal less friendly than Gussie, strutted about, yelling and gesticulating, while the guards and the British orderlies began to unload the small mountain of luggage from the accompanying trucks. Joining the Italian soldiers was the harassed station master, whose eyes widened as he watched the steady unloading of boxes, suitcases and bundles on to his platform.
It was clear to everyone that such a huge volume of luggage, animals and equipment could not easily be put aboard the train, which consisted of several carriages each divided into compartments with a side corridor. General Neame soon found himself dragged into another long argument with the Italians, until the station master, throwing up his hands in defeat, stalked off to find a goods van to attach to the rear of the train.
Once the goods van was hitched to the guards’ van, the laborious process of transferring all of the prisoners’ possessions aboard commenced.24
‘All luggage must be loaded on the van,’ stated the younger Italian officer to Neame, who was standing beside his travelling ‘trunk’. This enormous piece of luggage had been specially purchased by Neame from Rome for just such a move. Its shape and dimensions were akin to those of a cupboard.
‘Not this, Lieutenant,’ replied Neame smoothly. ‘This stays with me.’
‘But Generale, it is not possible,’ said the officer, raising his voice. ‘It must go in the van.’
‘Absolutely not, old boy,’ replied Neame, his arms folded, eyes glaring. A fresh argument now erupted, as Neame dug in his heels and refused to allow anyone to move his trunk.25 Eventually Gussie intervened and it was permitted that the trunk be loaded aboard Neame’s compartment by several disgruntled guards. It was at this point that Brigadier Combe diverted the Italians’ attention further along the platform.
‘You know, I’m worried that my hens are suffering,’26 said Combe to Brigadier Todhunter. Todhunter, who had been supervising the loading of his rabbit hutches and their precious contents, walked over to the nearest henhouse and peered inside.
‘They do look at bit browned off,’ he said in agreement.
Combe had caged his hens the evening before, and the length of time was concerning him.
‘Think they might like to stretch their legs a bit,’ muttered Combe, and before Todhunter could reply he had started opening the henhouse doors. Within seconds the platform was full of lively hens strutting around, flapping their wings and generally enjoying themselves. The other British prisoners dissolved into howls of laughter as Gussie’s men ran around trying to recapture the hens while Combe ran after them, remonstrating with them t
o be careful and not injure his birds.
Meanwhile, the saga of Neame’s gigantic trunk had not yet ended. Several sweating and cursing guards had managed with great difficulty to manoeuvre it into a compartment, wedging it between the overhead luggage racks. The guards stepped back, relieved that the job was over, and made to leave.
‘Oh no, no, this won’t do at all,’ began General Neame to the young officer in charge. ‘It’s dangerous, you understand?’ he said, pointing to the trunk above them. ‘It could fall and kill someone.’27
The Italian, his eyes glancing towards the heavens in silent protest, took a deep breath. Then, with heavy heart, he turned and ordered his men to take the trunk down. After some considerable effort the great trunk was laid across the compartment’s seats, creating a wall behind which General Neame sat silently by the carriage window. The problem was obvious: the trunk blocked the escort commander from seeing if Neame was still in the carriage. Another argument erupted.
In the meantime, the Italians had managed to recapture all of Combe’s hens except for one stubborn layer called Victoria. The hens and their houses were loaded aboard the goods van and Combe was pushed on board the passenger carriage to join the other officers. Victoria was still free on the platform. A concerned Combe leaned out of the window, trying to see his hen. At this point the station master blew his whistle and the steam train lurched forward, its bogeys and wheels squealing on the tracks, carriages jerking and shuddering. Suddenly, Combe saw a figure run up to the window – it was one of the station porters that had helped to load the prisoners’ luggage. He had Victoria in his hands, and quickly handed her up to Combe as the train pulled away from the platform.
‘Bless you, young man, bless you!’ shouted Combe, as he was bundled into the compartment. Taking a length of string from his pocket, Combe quickly tied Victoria’s legs together and placed her in one of the overhead luggage racks. By now, the compartment was filled by the raised voices of Neame and the escort commander, who were still arguing over the positioning of the general’s travelling trunk. Admitting defeat, the young Italian officer decided to clamber over the obstacle and seat himself opposite Neame. As he passed beneath Victoria on her lofty perch, the stressed hen gave vent to her feelings and defecated all over the officer’s cap and shoulder.28
Castle of the Eagles Page 9
