O’Connor’s eyes flew open. It was very dark – the middle of the night. Someone was in his bathroom making a hell of a row, crashing around and shouting. Then it dawned upon him with awful certainty. The rope! He’d forgotten to hide the rope that was drying in the bathroom. A figure blundered from the bathroom door past his bed and out into the corridor. Second Lieutenant Visocchi was beside himself and shouting for help.
Lights started to come on all over the castle, and within minutes the sounds of hobnailed boots clattering up the stone steps inside the prisoners’ part of the castle heralded the arrival of Italian soldiers, bayonets fixed to their rifles. O’Connor stood by his bed as Commandant Tranquille, hastily buttoning his tunic, burst into his room followed by Captain Pederneschi and several guards. The rope was quickly hauled down and taken away.
O’Connor had completely forgotten about the ‘night check’, when an Italian officer did the rounds in the middle of the night, checking that all of the prisoners were in their beds and everything was in order. Second Lieutenant Visocchi had been detailed the duty and had quietly looked in on a sleeping General O’Connor, before tiptoeing into O’Connor’s bathroom to make his routine check. When Visocchi walked into O’Connor’s darkened bathroom he hadn’t seen the rope hanging all around the room. A coil had gone around his neck, and in the darkness Visocchi had struggled, the coil becoming tight. He thought he was being strangled till he unhitched himself and ran shouting from the room.20
Major Bacci was immediately summoned from Florence, and when he arrived a search was being made of the castle. All of the prisoners were roughly awakened by their lights being switched on and Carabinieri opening drawers, looking under beds and conducting rough searches. Jim Hargest had taken to drawing maps, though he lacked the artistic talents of Gambier-Parry. Some of these were found in his room by Bacci’s men and confiscated. When Bacci entered G-P’s room, he found the general sitting up in bed with a thunderous expression on his face while Bacci’s men searched. Hoping to calm G-P down, he brought up the subject of maps.
‘Ah, my Generale, you must forgive us, yes,’ said Bacci in a soothing voice, ‘but what have we found in the room of Generale Hargest but a set of those so beautiful maps you make?’
‘Then all I can say,’ thundered G-P, his face red with rage, ‘is you’re no judge! How dare you suggest that I’d draw things like that! If you had the slightest knowledge of art …’ But an alarmed Bacci retreated out into the corridor before G-P could finish. When he saw Flight Lieutenant Leeming, Bacci was still shocked by G-P’s strong reaction. ‘He is so unreasonable!’ said Bacci excitedly. ‘Fancy talking of art at a time like this!’21
A full search of the castle was conducted under Bacci’s supervision, but apart from O’Connor’s rope and Hargest’s maps, nothing further was discovered. The prisoners received another visit from Major-General Chiappe, Florence Corps Commander, who reminded them again of the futility of escape, and it was decided to postpone O’Connor’s attempt for a month until everything settled down again.
*
General Neame decided to counter the notion that the prisoners were troublemakers by explaining why O’Connor and some of the others had been discovered with escape equipment. Letters had reached two of the prisoners from old friends in India that contained reference to a lunch party at Dehra Dun that had been attended by two Italian generals being held prisoner nearby.22 The fact that Italian generals were being entertained and allowed to socialise outside of their camp struck Neame and the others as unfair. Neame took the opportunity to compare and contrast the prisoners’ lot at Vincigliata in a strongly worded report to the Swiss Legation in Rome.
‘We are fettered by petty restrictions,’ wrote Neame indignantly, ‘and live surrounded by immense battlements, which are alive with sentries, notwithstanding which our bedrooms are invaded, and we are disturbed nightly by visiting rounds. Our only exits from this prison are walks along set routes under heavy escort, often more numerous than the prisoners themselves.’ A particular bone of contention was the close proximity of Florence. ‘We are denied any form of alleviation to the monotony of prison life, such as visits to places in the famous city of Florence, so renowned for its art, or any contact with, or view of civilisation.’23 Neame compared and contrasted the castle with the Villa Orsini. ‘The deterioration of our treatment since we left Sulmona and came to Florence has been most marked. At Sulmona we had far more liberty, which we did not abuse, and were treated far more courteously, and due attention was always paid to my requests to the Senior Officer.’24
It was little wonder, according to Neame, that men living under such conditions would be driven to attempt to escape. The prisoners, ‘goaded into action by intolerable conditions of restraint, were planning escape, being ready to accept any risk, rather than continue to endure the irksome conditions here’.25
*
Reg Miles had been looking depressed lately, and his friend Hargest realised that it had been two years since Miles’s only son Reginald, a pilot with the Fleet Air Arm, had been lost when the aircraft carrier HMS Glorious was sunk. It was important to try to keep busy, for the largely pointless and goalless life of a prisoner of war could wear down a man’s morale and leave him open to depression and too much contemplation. So the burly Miles, with Combe, returned to hoisting O’Connor on to the top of his wardrobe, keeping their edge when it came to the escape operation. No one could afford to relax if an escape requiring such exquisite timing was to come off.
Commandant Tranquille ordered that spare sheets were no longer to be issued to the prisoners, and that the officer conducting the ‘night check’ was to be accompanied by two Carabinieri. Nevertheless, a number of sheets already in the prisoners’ possession were donated to the cause and Able Seaman Cunningham used the one-month hiatus to manufacture fresh lengths of rope.
After several false starts, a new date for the operation was set. Zero Day was to be 24 July 1942.26 The tension among those taking part grew as the date approached. Everyone knew that they were playing for higher stakes now. The Italians knew that the prisoners were actively engaged in planning escape attempts. And everyone knew that the guards had been given orders to fire at anyone who crossed the walls. That made O’Connor’s attempt life-threatening. It also meant that if the timing was slightly off, even if only by two or three seconds, someone could get hurt or even killed. There was absolutely no margin for error.
*
The Italian government was stung by General Neame’s complaints about the treatment of the British and Commonwealth senior officers. While O’Connor and his team readied themselves for Zero Day, the Italian Ministry of Foreign Affairs wrote to the Protecting Power with their side of the story. ‘General Neame is interned with his comrades in a fortress, he enjoys all the comforts appertaining to his high rank (bath adjacent to bedroom, suitable dining room, another room for leisure, etc.) beside sufficient liberty of movement compatible however with the exigencies of supervision, which has become the more necessary following a recent attempt to escape …’27
The Italians were particularly offended by the idea that senior Italian officers in British hands were being treated with greater leniency than that shown to Neame and his friends. ‘Italian generals who are prisoners of war in the British Empire … had frequently had to complain of treatment, both moral and material, inadequate to their rank and age …’28 Neame’s missives certainly caused a useful bureaucratic distraction while Dick O’Connor’s scheme was prepared.
The British government was dragged into the dispute, and complained directly to the Swiss on Neame’s behalf. ‘The absence of privacy accorded the British Generals, their walks under heavy guard and the lack of visits to towns compare unfavourably with the accommodation of Italian Generals in their own quarters in detached buildings in which they enjoy a full degree of privacy,’ thundered the War Office’s Directorate of Prisoners of War, ‘[in particular] the Italian Generals cooperative freedom of movement and the per
mission which they enjoy of being permitted to enter shops and purchase their requirements.’29 If this war of words was intended by Neame to force the Italian authorities to relax some of the guarding arrangements around the prisoners at the castle, it did not succeed.
*
Dick O’Connor picked at his lunch on Zero Day, 24 July 1942. He wasn’t very hungry. Several of the other officers taking part in the escape were equally nervous. O’Connor glanced at his watch: 1.30pm. The escape was to be made at 2.00pm. He headed up to his room to prepare. First he donned his civilian clothes, pulling his uniform on over them. It was a hot summer’s day, and O’Connor was soon sweating. The valise containing his supplies was handed to Hargest, who took it down to the courtyard and concealed it in a bucket of earth. The rope, coiled, was similarly concealed, Hargest taking the buckets over to the bench and pushing them out of sight beneath. If any guard noticed them, they could be explained away as earth for the flower boxes which were dotted about the courtyard, and which the prisoners tended. Hargest then sat down on another bench, from which he would be able to see when the relief had passed over the heads of O’Connor, Miles and Combe on the stone bench and give them the signal. In the meantime, Pip Stirling had sauntered over to the corner of the wall beneath where a sentry patrolled, and had started to build a small bonfire from leaves, twigs and rubbish to act as a diversion.
At precisely 1.58pm O’Connor sauntered out from the keep and strolled over to the bench, sitting down between Miles and Combe.30 No one said a word. O’Connor’s eyes were fixed on Hargest, while Stirling fiddled with his little bonfire, not lighting it just yet. The minutes ticked by. A striking figure started moving along the terrace, whirling his arms in circular movements while jogging. Adrian Carton de Wiart – dressed, incongruously given the warmth of the day, in several layers of khaki sweaters – adjusted his black eye patch with his one remaining hand and continued with his calisthenics, his one good eye taking everything in. Over by the gate that led into the castle’s lower quadrant, where the Italian garrison lived, Dan Ranfurly with two enlisted men began to slowly sort firewood into piles ready for issue. Philip Neame sat high up on the battlements quietly stitching his tapestry, watching the escape unfold. Suddenly, the Italian relief appeared noisily and, led by a corporal, started to progress around the battlements in a clockwise direction changing the guards. O’Connor’s heart rate increased as he listened to the tramp of the reliefs’ boots growing louder on the walkway above.
Reaching the southwest corner of the terrace, the Italian soldiers briefly paused to change the sentry at Box No. 1 before continuing. They wore smart green open-necked field service uniforms with green shirts and ties, their trousers encased in woollen puttees up to the knee, with steel helmets on their heads. They marched on along the wall, passing over O’Connor’s position on the bench, towards Sentry Box No. 2. O’Connor quickly divested himself of his army tunic and pulled on his valise and rope.
The escape team knew that if the new sentry at Box No. 1 stayed at his box or walked along the western wall to the foot of the terrace stairway, his angle of sight would be blocked by the top of the stairs. This would leave Dick in a perfect blind area.31 But if the sentry went back along the south wall he would on his third pace come into view of the prisoners beneath the wall. The escape attempt would then be impossible. Dick’s chances depended entirely on the vagaries of the Italian sentry. The corporal and the relief had reached Sentry Box No. 2 and had their backs to where O’Connor intended to cross the wall. Everyone tensed and watched.
Hargest in particular watched Sentry No. 1 like a hawk. With a sinking feeling in his stomach he saw the static Sentry No. 1 suddenly start to stroll the ‘wrong’ way. Hargest briefly raised his hand to Dick’s party on the bench, the signal to hold fast. Pip Stirling also saw what was happening and reacted quickly. He patted his pockets, then turned and shouted up to the guard passing above: ‘Avete un fiammifero?’ Asking a guard for a match was a pretty cheeky gambit on Stirling’s part, but the bluff worked. A matchbox was tossed down to him. Throwing the guard a casual salute, Stirling struck a match and crouched down to light his little bonfire. He then threw the box of matches up on to the sentry walk, calling out a cheerful ‘Grazie!’ The sentry strolled over and retrieved his matches and then stood looking down at the fire as Stirling bustled about, feeding more bits of wood into the growing flames. He was right where Hargest wanted him.
‘Go ahead, sir,’32 said Hargest in a low voice in Dick’s direction. Dick O’Connor’s eyes were wide, his forehead slicked with sweat as he stared back at Hargest. He nodded and then quickly stepped up on to the bench, just as he had practised so many times in his room, tensing his legs and straining on tiptoe. Miles and Combe stood up on the bench with Dick between them. In a couple of seconds they had hoisted Dick up to the wooden sentry’s platform. It was higher than in training, and Dick struggled for a second or two to make it, the valise and rope weighing him down. As he kicked and pulled, the block with its metal hook around his waist became twisted. In two steps he was across the walkway and clambered into the embrasure. To his right, Sentry No. 2 had just been relieved. O’Connor had to struggle to release the cord that had become twisted around the block.33 For five vital seconds he struggled with the cord. ‘It came off in the end, and I very hastily placed it in the aperture, took the rope off my shoulder and threw it down over the wall, holding one end in my left hand.’34
O’Connor struggled for several more seconds to position the block, his ears cocked for a warning shout; none came. Quickly wiping sweat from his face, Dick O’Connor took a strong hold of Cunningham’s bed-sheet rope and pushed his body out of the embrasure. He could see the ground 30 feet below him. O’Connor looked both ways along the castle’s rough stone walls. All was quiet. He leaned back, holding the rope tightly with both hands, his feet pressed against the wall, and began awkwardly to descend. A feeling of exhilaration rose inside him – just a few more seconds and he would be down and free.
CHAPTER 11
___________________
The Ghost Goes West
‘I don’t believe any party of would-be escapers ever worked harder or more consistently than ours, and this included all those grand fellows who helped for the sake of helping with no hope of participating in the final break-out.’
Brigadier James Hargest
‘He’s away!’1 hissed Jim Hargest in a fierce whisper to Miles and Combe, who had resumed sitting on the stone bench. Hargest looked to his left. Sentry No. 1 was still lingering above Pip Stirling’s bonfire, looking down at the flames. Hargest glanced along the battlement walkway to his right. Sentry No. 2 was looking to his right, the 40 paces back to where Dick O’Connor had entered the embrasure. Something was wrong.2 The guard started to walk towards Dick’s position, unslinging his Mannlicher-Carcano 6.5mm rifle. Hargest knew in that instant that the sentry had seen something. Hargest realised he had to be stopped, and fast.
Hargest turned back and whispered to Miles: ‘Sentry No. 2 has seen something. Go quickly and intercept him and for goodness sake keep his attention.’3 Miles immediately tried to catch the guard’s attention, but the sentry was completely focused on the flash of white he had seen by the embrasure and ignored the big South African.
What the sentry had seen out of the corner of his eye was a flash of one of O’Connor’s hands or a piece of his clothing as the General had struggled for those extra few seconds with the wooden block and its twisted rope.4 The sentry went to the nearest embrasure and leaned out, gasping in surprise. A small figure dressed in nondescript clothing and carrying a leather suitcase strapped to his back like a rucksack was most of the way down a brown rope.
The guard, in a considerable state of surprise, leaned out of the embrasure and levelled his rifle at the figure below, cycling the weapon’s bolt with a harsh metallic click.
O’Connor, who was deep in concentration as he clumsily abseiled down the side of the castle, realised that the game was up whe
n he heard a loud cry from above. Gripping the rope for dear life, O’Connor looked up and saw the head and shoulders of the Italian guard leaning out from an embrasure some distance away. His rifle was pointed squarely at O’Connor’s dangling form.5
‘Arresto, arresto!’ yelled the Italian, ordering O’Connor to halt. ‘Fermati o sparo!’ O’Connor, who had studied Italian assiduously since being made a prisoner, knew exactly what the guard was yelling: ‘don’t move or I fire’. He needed no further warning. The rope creaked and a slight warm breeze wafted up from below the castle.
The alarm had been raised and below him O’Connor soon saw a mass of helmeted and heavily armed Italian soldiers running to the place where the end of his rope lay coiled in the grass. They pointed rifles with fixed bayonets at him and seemed to all be shouting at once.6 From their frantic gestures it was clear that they wanted him to climb down immediately. For a second or two O’Connor didn’t move, just hung on the rope, his two feet planted firmly against the castle’s rough stone wall, his arms aching badly from the effort to remain upright. A riot of emotions ran through his head. He had been foiled once again. But this experience would not in any way put him off having another go. While he remained a prisoner of the Italians, he would keep trying to escape.
Swallowing his disappointment, O’Connor clambered awkwardly down to the ground where the red-faced and excited Italians immediately accosted him.7 Stripped of his pack and roughly searched, the crowd of Italian soldiers around O’Connor suddenly fell silent and parted. O’Connor turned and watched as Captain Pederneschi, his Beretta pistol drawn, strode up, his black jackboots polished like mirrors. He fixed O’Connor with his keen brown eyes. Beneath the visor of his cap his face carried a truly malevolent expression.
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