Castle of the Eagles

by Felton, Mark;

  ‘I estimate that we need to dig a further fifteen feet and we’ve made it,’15 said Neame that night. It didn’t sound like much, but every man knew that they still had months of hard labour ahead of them if they were to be ready for the spring ‘escape season’. The distance from the chapel porch to the inside of the outer wall was estimated at about 35 feet.16

  ‘Taking into consideration the problems with rock strata and the hard clay, I’m estimating that we should break the surface sometime in mid-March.’ Several officers clinked their wine glasses together at this news.

  ‘Here’s to a very merry Christmas, gentlemen,’ said Neame, raising his glass, ‘and to a well-earned holiday in Switzerland come Easter 1943!’

  That night Brigadiers Combe and Stirling threw a party for the orderlies, ‘but everyone came and enjoyed themselves. We provided some pretty washy beer and Father Christmas in the form of old Armstrong the South African who looks just like him anyhow.’17

  On Christmas Day, as a sort of treat, the tunnel was opened for inspection to all of the rest of the prisoners at the castle, including the orderlies. With De Wiart’s lookouts in place, the visitors were brought down in small groups and given a guided tour. The generals and brigadiers were enormously proud of what they had achieved. James Hargest recorded the reactions of the younger prisoners: ‘They were all suitably staggered at the scale of undertaking. Most of them thought we were a few elderly gentlemen full of enthusiasm but rather harmless as miners; but after this inspection they realised we were in earnest.’18

  ‘On Xmas Day,’ Todhunter wrote, ‘we devoured our turkeys which John [Combe] had been nursing so lovingly for so long and very good they were too with plum pudding a la Red Cross. G.P. did some quite excellent menu cards, hand painted in watercolour, of various hunts and we had a small Xmas tree with some real candles, so we did our best to be festive.’19

  *

  While the tunnel took shape, careful planning and preparations for the eventual escape were undertaken. Firstly, and most importantly, was to decide how many would escape and who they were to be. There would be three two-man groups: De Wiart and O’Connor, Miles and Hargest, and Boyd and Combe.

  ‘How are the escape outfits coming along?’ asked Neame, who, as ‘Father of the Camp’, chose not to escape; his duty was to lead and represent all of the prisoners at Vincigliata.

  ‘We’ve got everyone making their own outfits, sir,’ said Jim Hargest. ‘The idea is that we should pass for Italian workmen. To this end, we’re also going to carry the appropriate “props”. For example, I’m going out as a bricklayer, so I’ve got a trowel and plumb-line to carry in the top of my suitcase.’

  At night, in the secrecy of their rooms, and after digging during the two day shifts, the escapers worked on manufacturing working men’s jackets and caps, modifying bits of uniform. There were some items of clothing left over from earlier escape attempts that had been successfully hidden from the Italians. The idea for most of the escapers was to look workmanlike without appearing shabby or suspicious.

  ‘Rations are being stockpiled, sir,’ said Reg Miles, referring to the illicit hoarding of food for the trip, mostly tins of chocolate, malted milk tablets and Red Cross biscuits.

  ‘How about identity documents, G-P?’ asked Neame, turning to an exhausted-looking Gambier-Parry.

  ‘It’s all in hand, old chap,’ replied G-P without emotion, black bags beneath his tired eyes. G-P had managed to obtain a real Italian identity card and was in the process of faithfully reproducing this precious document six times. Because sketching and painting were G-P’s hobbies, the Italians had foolishly permitted him inks, paints, brushes, pens and various types of paper, a great deal of which were used for more covert purposes, principally creating splendid maps and identity documents.20 But making six IDs required many months of exhausting concentration. One mistake on the lettering, a stamp or signature could mean weeks of work down the drain. G-P had no help, as no one else in the small camp possessed his unique skill set. The strain on his eyesight was immense, given that he was often working in the evenings by inadequate light. He also had to be ready to hide his ‘artwork’ at a moment’s notice in the event of a search. He managed to obtain a special ocular device that helped with the fine work, but G-P’s nerves were beginning to fray towards the end of the project.21

  The one seemingly insurmountable problem faced by G-P in the production of Italian identity cards was a lack of passport photos. The Italian authorities did not permit cameras, but each ID had to have a standard-sized black-and-white passport photo glued to it. The other prisoners could not conceive of how G-P could get around this problem. But they underestimated G-P’s incredible abilities. As well as art, G-P was passionate about music. He organised and ran the castle choir, with Company Quartermaster Sergeant Tom Morgan as lead tenor. After a great deal of complaining and bargaining, the prisoners eventually secured from Major Bacci a wind-up gramophone for their sitting room.22 G-P sent off for records, mostly classical music – opera in particular. He would organise weekly recitals. One evening he was extracting a record from its sleeve when he noticed that on the back of the packaging were black-and-white photographs of the featured artists. Even more incredibly, the photos were the exact size and shape as passport images, and printed on virtually the same paper. G-P’s idea was simple: find photographs of performers who looked similar to the tunnel escapers and use them on the fake IDs. G-P wrote off for more German and Italian operas until he had a good stock of photographs to choose from. A small committee was formed by the prisoners, who scoured the record covers trying to find faces that matched the six men due to escape. Eventually, close likenesses were found for most of the men, although it proved tricky to find a match for Carton de Wiart. He remained a problem until G-P came upon a photo in an Italian news magazine called Illustrazione. The face that most matched Long John Silver’s (minus the eye patch) turned out, ironically, to be that of Prime Minister Ion Antonescu, the hardline Axis leader of Romania.23

  It was important that the escapers learned their new cover identities. Going by the maxim that keeping it simple was probably best, the escapers were encouraged to create their own Italian alter egos. Jim Hargest chose the name ‘Angelo Pasco’.24 He would remember the name with ease, as it was that of a fish merchant friend from Invercargill, New Zealand. Hargest’s Pasco would be from Bologna and was, as Hargest had told Neame, a bricklayer by trade.

  *

  ‘Tirano,’ said Dick O’Connor, pointing with his finger at one of G-P’s carefully made maps. ‘It’s a small town on the Swiss border in the Italian province of Sondrio.’

  O’Connor was briefly outlining his plan to walk, accompanied by Carton de Wiart, to Switzerland. Boyd, Combe, Hargest and Miles had all decided to try to reach Switzerland by rail.25 General Dick and Carton had, however, decided upon the more strenuous task of trekking – what POWs called ‘Boy Scouting’ – approximately 270 miles north. De Wiart, owing to his eye patch and missing hand, felt that he was too conspicuous to risk travelling by train, and O’Connor had decided to accompany his friend.26 They believed that their best chance ‘lay in evaporating into the mountains’.27 But regardless of their planning and physical conditioning constantly running up and down the keep staircases, it would be a major undertaking for a disabled 63-year-old and his 54-year-old companion.

  ‘Our route is very simple,’ outlined Air Vice-Marshal Boyd during the meeting. ‘We plan to walk to Florence station and, travelling incognito as tradesmen or travelling salesmen, board a train to Milan.’ As he spoke he traced the route on the map with his index finger. ‘We change trains at Milan for Como, our final destination being the small border town of Chiasso, here. It’s about six miles from Como, so we’ll walk.’

  Chiasso straddles the Swiss–Italian border, with the Swiss part inside Canton Ticino. It’s the most southern municipality in Switzerland and lies 88 miles west of Tirano.

  ‘How do you plan to enter Switzerland?’ as
ked General Neame.

  ‘Well, all the frontier crossings are heavily guarded by the Italians and the Swiss,’ said Boyd. ‘Obviously we need to avoid all roads, bridges and railway lines crossing the frontier. But from what we can gather, the Swiss haven’t the manpower to completely guard every stretch of the frontier, and neither does the enemy, and the geography is against such a measure. We will hook up into the mountains and cross somewhere quiet.’

  ‘We also have the same idea,’ said O’Connor. ‘We will cross further north from Tirano at a quiet stretch.’

  For the four who were taking the train, their journey to the Swiss frontier should only be a matter of a couple of days, taking into consideration wartime travel on the railways. They would travel light, with just valises or small suitcases. The challenge for them was buying tickets at stations and mingling in with the population. For O’Connor and De Wiart, their journey would take weeks, necessitating them carrying most of what they would need on their backs. O’Connor and De Wiart calculated that their rucksacks, once filled with their food, spare clothing, and maps, would weigh at least 25lbs.28 Food consisted of Red Cross chocolate, a few tins of bully beef, a few tins of soup, and so on, carefully collected and hoarded over months.

  Escape equipment for all three teams was transferred to the chapel for safekeeping,29 though a reserve was kept elsewhere just in case the Italians blew the tunnel.

  *

  Just after New Year 1943 Jim Hargest was forced to take a break from digging because of his gammy hip. He was in considerable discomfort, and on Dr Vaughan’s recommendation he was sent to hospital in Florence for an x-ray and treatment. As this would require two trips into the city by car, Hargest decided to treat them as reconnaissance missions for the forthcoming tunnel escape. On each trip Hargest persuaded the corporal driving him to go to the hospital by a different route, spinning him a story about wanting to see the sights of Florence. The driver fell for the ruse, allowing Hargest to carefully observe the road junctions and piazzas. The intelligence gathered would prove invaluable in planning a route on foot from the castle to Florence’s railway station.30

  *

  One day in late January 1943 Air Vice-Marshal Boyd was working at the tunnel face. The dimensions of the tunnel had narrowed somewhat near the end, and Boyd, a short but powerfully built man, struggled in the constricted space, his burly shoulders pushing against the sides. The labour had become increasingly hellish the longer the tunnel was dug. Though it was winter, sweat poured from Boyd’s brow and arms as he worked away at the face with the big kitchen knife, loosening rocks set hard in the clay soil. Behind him squatted his digging buddy Reg Miles, who waited with a half-filled canvas bucket, ready to take back to the entrance shaft to be hauled to the surface and emptied.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ muttered Boyd, almost to himself. He stopped digging and took up a handful of dirt.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Miles, peering over Boyd’s filthy shoulder. The bulb that lit the tunnel had been advanced towards the face the day before by Sergeant Bain, but its position and the size of the tunnel created shadows and dark patches.

  ‘Damp,’ said Boyd, looking at Miles, his face as grimy as a coalminer’s.

  ‘Damp?’ repeated Miles, raising one eyebrow.

  ‘Definitely damp. Better get Phil down here,’ said Boyd.

  When Neame struggled up to the tunnel’s face and sampled the soil he agreed with Boyd – it was most definitely damp.

  ‘Well, what does it mean?’ asked Boyd impatiently.

  ‘Must be seepage from a water table,’ replied Neame, touching the tunnel face. When Boyd’s and Miles’s faces showed no signs of comprehension, he continued.

  ‘It means, gentlemen, that we are probably close to the castle’s outer wall.’31

  ‘By Jove,’ said Boyd, ‘but that’s bloody marvellous news!’ He clapped Neame roughly on the shoulder with one mud-encrusted hand. ‘How much further?’

  ‘I’ll fetch my instruments,’ replied Neame seriously, backing down the tunnel, his mind already spinning with possibilities.

  *

  Because space was at a premium inside the tunnel, Brigadiers Stirling and Hargest, the latter now recovered from his hip trouble, widened the shaft at one point to create a bypass for up and down traffic.32 Boyd and Miles and the other digging teams continued to work at the face until, on Neame’s advice, the tunnel was judged to be 35 feet long and should be directly beneath the massive outer wall of the castle. Some wooden propping was necessary only for this damp section.33 The plan was then to dig upwards, uncovering the foundation of the wall, and then dig along its length for six feet before turning out and creating an exit hole two feet beyond the wall.

  On the second day beneath the wall the diggers hit the structure’s hard base. It consisted of very large flat stone blocks fitted together with equally resilient mortar.34 It was decided to use the bottom of the wall as the roof for this section of the tunnel.

  Throughout February and March 1943 the tunnel progressed beneath the wall until Neame ordered a course change and the tunnel branched out at a right angle to the wall for two feet.35 The tunnel now lay an unknown distance below the surface. The next problem was finding out exactly how much earth and rock remained between the tunnellers and freedom.

  *

  ‘Not again!’ exclaimed Brigadier Stirling, as the tunnel buzzer gave a long blast. This signalled ‘stop temporarily’ and Stirling, though annoyed at the frequent halts, obeyed instantly. Stirling didn’t move. He held one of the improvised iron bars in both hands. He had been working loose a large rock above him when the buzzer had sounded. He knew this meant that a sentry was stood on the wall just twenty feet above Stirling’s position. General Neame feared that certain tools made enough noise for the sound to travel through the wall, and that it could potentially be felt or heard by an alert sentry, so every time a sentry came close to the tunnel, the buzzer sounded. Though the constant stops were frustrating for the diggers, it was felt to be a sensible precaution after so much time and effort had been expended on the tunnel.

  Time ticked by slowly for Stirling, who was frozen in an uncomfortable position. He had been taking his turn digging upwards just two feet outside the perimeter wall. It was exhausting work at such an awkward angle. Stirling waited, his ears straining for permission to continue. The silence in the tunnel was abruptly shattered by two buzzes, indicating ‘carry on again’.

  ‘’Bout bally time,’ muttered Stirling grumpily, before he resumed levering the large rock from the damp earth. But then the buzzer sounded again. ‘For the love of God!’ cursed Stirling, freezing once again. Near the end the tunnellers might have been, but the going was getting harder and the impatience of being able to almost see the finishing line wearing even thinner each man’s sorely tested patience.

  *

  In order to minimise the chance of the shaft up to the surface falling in on the diggers, a system of wooden supports was put in by Boyd and Lord Ranfurly. The carpenters ‘designed sliding frames to slide up inside a fixed revetment framework at the bottom of the shaft,’ explained General Neame, ‘and with a roof of removable slats, so that a part of the earth above could be cut away with a trowel while the remainder was safely supported.’36 The wooden lining for the shaft was increased as the men dug towards the surface.

  When the roof had been raised two feet Neame decided to find out exactly how much earth remained above their heads. It was not simply a case of digging to the surface and creating an exit hole. That would only be done when the conditions for the actual escape were ready. Neame decided to probe the surface with a hollow stair rod. Nothing – they were still too deep.

  After the diggers reached three-and-a-half feet upwards, Neame returned to try again. At this point the probe broke through. Neame turned to some of the others who had gathered in the tunnel behind him, expectant expressions on their muddy faces.

  ‘Four-and-a-half feet to the surface,’ announced Neame in a hars
h whisper. The others grinned or silently shook hands. Working upwards had been incredibly difficult, with large and difficult rocks blocking the shaft on several occasions, their removal requiring all of the diggers’ ingenuity.37 It had seemed that the castle was determined not to let them go just yet.

  The buzzer’s shrill single warning suddenly broke Neame’s and the others’ reverie. They all looked towards the ceiling. They knew that up there were armed men with explicit orders to shoot anyone seen on the wrong side of the walls. They all remembered the sneering Captain Pederneschi pointing at the strand of wire erected five feet inside the outer wall and his chilling warning: ‘This is the line of death … No prisoner is allowed to cross it … If you do you will be shot!’

  CHAPTER 13

  ___________________

  Through the Night of Doubt and Sorrow

  ‘The work [on the tunnel] was crushingly hard, and only iron determination prevented the workers from giving up the struggle.’

  Flight Lieutenant John Leeming

  A few days after General Neame had successfully probed the surface through the remaining four-and-a-half feet of soil covering the tunnel exit, it began to rain. A strong wind blew up and the rain increased in ferocity, great sheets lashing the castle like a ship at sea. The generals looked out of their accommodation with alarm. Water was running off the roof in a torrent and forming great pools in the courtyard and gardens as the drains to the moat were overwhelmed.

  A team was sent to check on the tunnel. As they climbed down into the entrance shaft the rain drummed loudly on the chapel roof high above them. Brigadier Hargest spotted water running down the shaft in a steady trickle. As he reached the base of the shaft his foot sank into a couple of inches of muddy water. Clambering along the tunnel, water was pooling at its lowest point. Hargest quickly reported to Neame, who came to inspect.