The prisoners had managed to fatten a few turkeys for Christmas and these had been slain and cooked. ‘Our cooks excelled themselves and even contrived to make very passable imitations of mince pies and plum pudding, but they were very sensitive about the ingredients,’ noted Todhunter. ‘I strongly suspect coloured tripe of doing duty as candied peel!’49 Entertainment was left up to the prisoners. ‘After dinner you would have laughed to see our rather staid selection of old gentlemen playing charades,’ wrote Todhunter to his father. ‘It finally resolved itself into a series of lightning sketches mainly from the Old Testament all of which were very funny but would not have been a great success at a W.I. party!’50
*
A big shock came just after Christmas 1941 when the Duke of Montalto announced that he was being posted to Libya. The prisoners had grown close to the Italian aristocrat in the first three months of their imprisonment at the castle, Neame describing him as ‘a first class officer … who treated us in the best possible way’.51 This had reached its zenith when Neame had extended an invitation to Montalto to join the senior officers for Christmas dinner. Montalto had accepted and dined pleasantly with the generals. But word had subsequently leaked out among the other Italian officers and guards of an incident at the dinner party. Neame had stood and proposed a toast to the king, the British king, and Montalto, undoubtedly deciding not to give offence, had duly stood along with everyone else around the table and drunk to George VI’s health. A pro-Fascist member of the staff had leaked the news to the authorities in Rome, who had decided, not unreasonably, that Montalto had to go. He was packed off to the front line where he was (ironically) captured by the British and became a POW. His place was taken on 3 February 1942 by a man of more humble origins, an Anglophobic hardline Fascist, First Captain Tranquille of the Bersaglieri,52 an elite corps of riflemen that in combat wore as their emblem a burst of black cockerel feathers on the right side of the helmet.
Tranquille was instantly disliked by most of the British prisoners, General Gambier-Parry describing him as being ‘like one of those slugs that you find under a stone’. A thin man with sharp aquiline features and a pronounced stoop, Tranquille wore a permanent scowl and was to prove to be an assiduous commandant who had been sent to watch the prisoners very carefully indeed. He more than complemented his Fascist security officer, Captain Pederneschi, in this regard. General Neame was less harsh in his assessment of Tranquille, calling him ‘an efficient and correct officer who organised and ran the castle well’,53 which was true, but he was not well liked. As for Pederneschi, Neame wasn’t the only prisoner who had soon taken the measure of the man, noting that although he was ‘outwardly affable’ he could quickly lose his temper when crossed.54 The prisoners intended that Captain Pederneschi should have plenty to lose his temper about over the following weeks and months.
CHAPTER 8
___________________
Trial and Error
‘If one of the first duties of a prisoner of war is to incite his guards to mount more and more sentries and so dissipate his energies away from the battlefield, then we were doing our duty.’
Brigadier James Hargest
‘Generale Neame, I am to inform you that more prisoners are to arrive at the Castello on the 13th of March,’ said First Captain Tranquille in a bored tone on 9 March 1942.
‘More prisoners? Do you know their names?’ replied Neame, standing before Tranquille’s wooden office desk.
‘They are all brigadiers,’ said Tranquille, ignoring the question. ‘Two British, two from New Zealand. You may meet them at the gate when they arrive. I will have Lieutenant Visocchi inform you of the time. Colonels Younghusband and Fanshawe are to be transferred to another camp to make space.1 That is all, Generale.’ The grim-faced Tranquille saluted the hatless Neame then slowly slumped into his desk chair, his thin, slope-shouldered frame resembling a morose vulture.
Neame left the commandant’s office filled with excitement. Four new faces would do much to improve the quality of conversation among the prisoners, which after months together was becoming rather stale, though it was regrettable that Younghusband and Fanshawe would be going. Both men would be sorely missed.2
The new arrivals would hopefully bring fresh news of the war and its progress, as well as hoped-for skills and expertise that the escape committee could use to its advantage. When Neame told the others, that evening in the mess, there was much excited chattering. The 13th would be an interesting day.
*
The new prisoners arrived from Florence station in two cars escorted by a single motorcycle. They emerged from the cars with undisguised looks of horror and fascination etched into their faces as they viewed the castle up close for the first time, a distinctly familiar reaction to the old boys who had arrived the year before. It was immediately evident that the guards were conducting a search prior to booking the prisoners into the camp. Brigadier James Hargest was still sitting in the back seat of the Italian army car, his window rolled down, when Brigadier Douglas ‘Pip’ Stirling, British 1st Armoured Brigade, walked past from the other car.
‘They got my blasted field glasses,’ Stirling hissed in a fierce whisper. Hargest was worried. He had concealed a stash of forbidden banknotes and a completely illegal army compass in an old bully beef tin that he had rigged to look unopened.
Fifty-year-old James Hargest would be unique among the prisoners at the castle in that as well as being a highly decorated combat soldier he was also an elected politician. Born in New Zealand in 1891, Hargest had been severely wounded at Gallipoli in 1915, winning a Military Cross, before commanding a battalion on the Western Front, bringing him the first of his eventual three DSOs. In 1931 he had been elected Member of Parliament for Invercargill, and when war broke out in September 1939 he had volunteered for active service once again. He was turned down on medical grounds and it was only through the personal intervention of the New Zealand Prime Minister that Hargest was appointed to command 5th Infantry Brigade, part of the 2nd New Zealand Infantry Division that went to Greece. Hargest had come in for some criticism over his handling of his brigade during the vital Battle for Maleme Airfield during the German invasion of Crete, but he was subsequently awarded a Bar to his DSO. He had then taken his brigade to North Africa, where he was captured.
Hargest entered a small outer room of the castle where another door led through into staff quarters. A table and chair had been placed before the entrance, and Tranquille slouched behind it, waiting for the prisoners. Several burly guards stood around waiting to frisk the prisoners.
‘I am going to search you, Brigadier Hargest,’ announced Tranquille grandly. Hargest watched as his travelling bags were placed on the table before him by his batman, Private Howes. Hargest reached into his pocket and handed over the keys.
‘Do you wish me to undress?’ asked Hargest.
‘Si, remove your coat,’ replied Tranquille. Hargest quickly shrugged off his army greatcoat, extracting his precious tin from one pocket and also placing it on the table.
‘My men will now search you,’ said Tranquille. Several sentries expertly frisked Hargest, who raised his arms in reluctant cooperation. Tranquille suddenly ordered his men to stop.
‘If you will give me your word that you do not have on your person any weapons, compasses, glasses or, how you say, files, I will stop the search.’
Hargest fixed Tranquille’s brown eyes with his. ‘I have nothing like that on my person, Captain, but I can’t answer for my kit.’3
Tranquille ordered Hargest’s bags searched. No contraband was discovered. Hargest suddenly reached forward and picked up the can of bully beef. ‘I thought you might object to this,’ he said, as cool as a cucumber. Tranquille barely glanced at the fake can, for he had seen hundreds in the Red Cross parcels that were delivered to the castle. The prisoners received 60 parcels every fortnight.4
‘No, Brigadier, that’s all right.’5
Hargest picked up his greatcoat and slid the can into a
pocket. He was shown through a side door and into the back of the main gate where a small reception committee stood waiting for him. Pip Stirling was already deep in conversation with General De Wiart, while Neame, O’Connor and Lord Ranfurly each shook his hand in welcome.
‘Jim Hargest, 5th New Zealand Infantry Brigade. And this is Reg Miles, another Kiwi,’ said Hargest, introducing the rangy, tough-looking man beside him.
‘Bert Armstrong, 5th South African Infantry Brigade,’ announced the last officer to emerge from the office, a large, jolly-looking fellow who limped slightly when he walked. ‘Everyone calls me “O Bass”,’ said Armstrong in his strong South African accent.
‘When did you chaps go into the bag?’ asked O’Connor.
‘They got me at Tobruk, December ’41. Reg at Belhamed,’ said Hargest.
‘Sidi Rezeg, November ’41,’ said Armstrong, rubbing his game leg.
‘Tobruk for me also – bloody Rommel!’ said Stirling.
Lord Ranfurly was particularly pleased to meet the New Zealanders. His grandfather had been Governor-General of New Zealand between 1897 and 1904, and Ranfurly’s father had acted as ADC to the Governor-General. Dan Ranfurly had visited New Zealand himself before the war.6
‘Welcome to the asylum, chaps,’ said Neame. ‘Let’s show you to your quarters. It must have been a hellish journey. You’ll probably want to freshen up a bit before the rest of the inmates chew your ears off. We’re a bit short of visitors or news of late.’
*
The two New Zealand brigadiers, Hargest and Miles, were allocated small rooms in the top of the castle’s tall keep, in what had been the servants’ quarters during Temple-Leader’s day. Hargest soon fell into conversation with General O’Connor.
‘Miles and I are absolutely determined to escape by some means, sir,’ said Hargest, as he unpacked a few of his things in his brick-floored bedroom. O’Connor stood by the small window. ‘Obviously, we don’t want to embarrass any of the others who have already made preparations. Their plans must take priority.’
‘Well, Hargest, we do have a scheme under way at the moment. It involves myself, General De Wiart, Air Vice-Marshal Boyd and Brigadier Combe and it’s been in the works for months,’ said O’Connor. ‘In fact, we’re rather hoping to get away in the next night or two.’7
O’Connor filled Hargest in on the details of the planned white wall job. Hargest was impressed. It seemed that the old generals knew their stuff. He and Miles would agree to lay off even elementary planning for their own job until after O’Connor’s show had taken place. Instead, they offered their services to the existing scheme. Miles soon found employment. Gambier-Parry was overworked trying to produce maps for everyone, and Miles was an excellent copyist. He was set to work reproducing a map that was to be used during the white wall escape.
*
One week after the arrival of Hargest and Miles, General Neame announced that Zero Day, the day of the escape, was upon them. In the morning it had started raining hard, and the buzz among the generals was that today must be the day. All day various officers could be found peering through rain-streaked windows at the heavens or standing just inside doorways leading to the cloisters or terrace, smoking pipes or cigarettes, eyes narrowed as they contemplated the weather. A constant stream of amateur meteorological reports filtered back to the sitting room and smoking room, keeping everyone on edge. Dinner was served and it continued to rain steadily throughout. Many continued their routine of strolling to the doorways to check as the light faded from the grey, overcast sky and the night came on. The wait was agonising. At 9.00pm Generals Neame and O’Connor, the last pair to have gone outside, returned to the sitting room, where the rest of the generals were gathered before the fireplace on sofas and armchairs.
‘Well, is it on?’ asked Carton de Wiart without ceremony.
Neame slowly shook his head despairingly. ‘I’m sorry chaps, but the wind has dropped and the rain is petering out.’8
‘Damn it!’ exclaimed Brigadier Combe loudly, thumping his fist down against the arm of his chair in frustration. Everyone in the room shared his passionate disappointment. There was nothing that Neame could do except postpone the attempt until more favourable weather conditions prevailed. It was back to waiting.
*
A few days later the friendly Italian medical officer, Dr Bolaffio, was performing one of his regular visits to the castle. The castle lacked an infirmary and, the authorities perhaps being mindful not only of the elevated ranks of their prisoners but also their ages, Bolaffio had been assigned to visit the camp regularly to check on all of the prisoners. For emergencies, Bolaffio had been issued with an army motorcycle combination so that he could take a sick patient straight down to hospital in Florence.9 Bolaffio was often alone with the prisoners. On this visit he was particularly nervous.
‘General Neame, I have heard that the castle is to be searched,’ said the doctor in a fierce whisper.
‘Searched?’ exclaimed Neame in surprise. ‘When?’
‘I do not know for sure, but probably next week. Orders have arrived at our headquarters in Florence from Rome. Special experts are to be sent to search the castle.’
‘Have you heard the reason for this sudden search?’ asked Neame, his mind already turning to the caches of food, documents and civilian clothing that were hidden all over the castle in preparation for the white wall escape attempt.
‘Don’t worry, General, Rome does not suspect anything from you prisoners. It is just a new routine we must obey. It is also the same in the other prison camps in Italy. So if you have anything dangerous you burn it quick – especially any papers.’10
‘Thank you for the warning, doctor,’ said Neame, shaking Bolaffio’s hand warmly. ‘You are a good friend to us.’
Neame called a meeting of the escape committee later that day, and it was agreed to check all the hiding places to ensure that the searchers, when they came, didn’t locate any of the compromising escape materials. Once that had been completed it was simply a waiting game until Rome’s bloodhounds arrived.
*
‘Generale Neame,’ said Major Bacci, saluting smartly. Bacci was the Carabinieri officer who oversaw all of the POW camps in the Florence region since 24 September 1941.11 He had arrived at the castle a few moments before with three truckloads of his men to begin the snap search. Bacci appeared slightly embarrassed by the task that Rome had set him.
The senior British officers were all inside their big sitting room. First Captain Tranquille had given orders earlier that they were to remain in this room while the search of the castle was conducted, and had posted several guards to back up his order.12 Bacci had then arrived, immediately paying his compliments to the Senior British Officer.
‘I am sorry, Generale,’ began Bacci, a good-looking middle-aged officer with a pencil-thin black moustache and superbly tailored uniform. ‘I hope that you will understand that it is nothing to do with me,’ he said, spreading his palms outward. ‘I should never have thought of such a thing. But I have definite orders from Rome. I have explained that such a thing is unnecessary with the high-ranking officers, but Rome, it does not understand that.’ As Bacci spoke, Neame and the other Britons made appropriate noises of agreement.
‘Forgive me, gentlemen,’ said Bacci, concluding his explanation. ‘I have my orders. You will permit me to carry them out?’13 Neame nodded gravely.
‘I shall call out each of you one at a time when my men search your rooms. After the search has been completed, you will wait in the courtyard,’ said Bacci. ‘Generale Neame, if you please, sir.’
Neame went first, escorted up to his room, which was diligently searched by several of Bacci’s men. No contraband was found and Neame was led down to the courtyard to wait.
When Neame was led from the room, Dick O’Connor turned to the others, his face as white as a ghost.
‘Oh God,’ muttered O’Connor.
‘Dick, what’s the matter?’ asked Gambier-Parry.
‘My room,’ muttered O’Connor, as if to himself, before breaking his reverie and grasping G-P’s forearm fiercely. ‘My room … I’ve left some papers in my room.’
‘What papers?’ asked Brigadier Todhunter, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
‘An appreciation of the escape,’ said O’Connor sickly. ‘I left it in my bedside table drawer.’
‘Oh my God,’ exclaimed Todhunter and Combe simultaneously.
‘What can we do?’ asked G-P. ‘We are not allowed to leave this room, and the door is guarded.’
‘The next person who is taken out, he must warn Phil,’ said O’Connor, coming to his senses. ‘Phil will have to go up to my room, retrieve the papers and hide them.’14
‘We’d all better hope that this Bacci fellow doesn’t pick you next, Dick,’ said De Wiart ominously.
‘I also have some letters in my room,’ piped up Brigadier Combe.
‘What letters?’ demanded De Wiart.
‘Farewell letters,’ said Combe, almost wincing as he spoke.
‘Farewell letters? Who in the hell to?’ snapped De Wiart.
‘Ricciardi and another friendly officer,’ said Combe. The rest looked at him with amazement or bewilderment. ‘Well, they’ve been damned good sports and it didn’t seem right to not bid them a proper farewell,’15 said Combe defensively. The officers were permitted to write two letters and two postcards per week to relatives and friends.16 Combe’s unusual take on the regulations was astonishing.
‘Mad as a March hare!’ barked De Wiart, shaking his head in disbelief.
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