CHAPTER 18
___________________
Night Crossing
‘For the first time in many months a warm peace entered my soul.’
Brigadier James Hargest
‘Get through!’ gasped Brigadier Reg Miles slightly breathlessly as he pried back the cut pieces of the tall frontier fence. Jim Hargest crouched down and crawled through the opening, his clothes collecting a thick coating of snow as he went. Once he was through, Hargest turned back and extended his arms.
‘The coats and bags, Reg,’ he said, beckoning with his fingertips. Moving fast, Miles snatched up their greatcoats, rolling them into balls before passing them through, followed by their suitcases. Miles glanced behind him, then turned back to the fence and ‘shot through like a rabbit.’1 The two brigadiers jumped to their feet, scooped up their things, and dashed like mad up the steep slope into the thick fir trees above.
Once in among the trees Hargest and Miles sat down in the snow. All was quiet. Miles turned to Hargest, his face beaming in the moonlight.
‘Jim, we’re in Switzerland!’
Hargest stared back at him, his face also creased by a victorious smile. He uttered a little prayer of thankfulness. ‘My heart was tight-packed with gratitude,’ he later wrote.2 Hargest opened his little suitcase and rummaged around for a few seconds before pulling out the 3oz bottle of rum that he’d brought with him from the castle. Miles did the same.
‘To freedom, Reg,’ said Hargest, clinking his bottle against Miles’s.
‘To freedom, Jim,’3 repeated Miles, and then they both took a deep slug of rum, savouring the moment.
*
Brigadier John Combe was settling down to his first night behind bars as a common criminal at the San Vittore prison in Milan. The corridors echoed with shouts and the slamming of iron doors. His cell was a spartan affair, with just a simple bed and a bucket toilet. Most of his clothes and all of his equipment and supplies had been taken away from him. At his last interrogation, Combe had stuck resolutely to his cover story, and it was clear that the Italians had yet to join up the dots and link him with the escape from Vincigliata Castle. But worryingly, his police interrogators had warned him that he could expect a two- or three-year prison sentence for being in possession of false identity documents. Combe rolled over on his hard mattress and tried to sleep. He thought of his companions and wondered what had become of them.4
*
Air Vice-Marshal Owen Boyd had been taken to a Carabinieri post near the frontier after his apprehension in the rail yard. He was bitter at the nature of his recapture, literally within a stone’s throw of freedom. His kit had been taken away from him, along with his maps and fake identity card, but Boyd had admitted who he was, showing his captors his identity tag as proof. He was told that on the following day he would be sent back to the castle for punishment.5
*
Generals O’Connor and Carton de Wiart remained in play, though they were stretched out on the straw of a farmer’s cowshed just over 30 miles from the castle, snoring fitfully after their exhausting march.6 So far, they had encountered no problems and felt optimistic that they could reach their target, the border town of Tirano, in about seven days, if they could keep up the pace. Before O’Connor had fallen asleep he had reflected that all the hard endurance training that he and De Wiart had undertaken at the castle during the months of careful preparation was now paying off.7 They were as fit as any men could expect to be in late middle age and psychologically conditioned to succeed.
*
Although Brigadiers Hargest and Miles had made it to Switzerland, they now had to ensure that they would remain. It was of paramount importance that they contact the British authorities. But the first stage was to give themselves up to the Swiss authorities and let the wheels of bureaucracy take over. This proved easier said than done. They were high up in the mountains in the night-time, with little idea of what lay ahead and absolutely no contacts in the country. Their first task would be to descend to a less challenging altitude and find some form of civilisation.
It was very dark as the two New Zealanders started to descend through the snow and trees. Branches constantly struck them as they fumbled and flailed through the forest in the poor light. Hargest slipped, sliding and rolling downhill, still clutching his suitcase, until his sudden descent was arrested painfully by a tree. Then Miles took a nasty tumble, in the process losing his cap in the snow.8
By now, the pair had been without water for too many hours, and both were dehydrated and exhausted. After a long climb they came to a path that led to a beautiful mountain stream. Hargest and Miles dropped to their knees beside the stream and using their hands as cups they greedily drank the freezing cold Alpine water before washing their faces and hands. They rested beside the stream, eating the last of the bully beef and bread from the castle and washing it down with their rum.
Instead of avoiding people, as they had been attempting to do since their escape from the castle, Hargest and Miles now had to actively seek out company, which felt strange to them. Ironically, it proved difficult to find anyone to surrender to at such a late hour. The first village they came to, Novazanno, was eerily quiet. The New Zealanders slaked their thirst once again, this time at the village fountain, before moving on. The occasional car drove past them, but there was little sign of life. To add to their woes, it began to rain.9
The temperature dropped with the rain and soon both men were shivering violently, wet and determined to find cover. After sheltering in a shed open to the weather on three sides, they were so cold that they couldn’t stand it any longer and at 3.00am Swiss time (one hour behind Italy) they went into the nearest village and banged on the door of a restaurant, behind which the two escapers could hear singing.10 There was no response. Hargest tried again, standing in the rain outside wearing every item of clothing that he possessed in a vain attempt to stay warm.
‘Hello!’ bellowed Hargest, in between hammering on the door. ‘Can you hear me. We are Englishmen.’ No response. He turned to Miles, who shrugged his shoulders.
‘Hello, hello!’ shouted Hargest again. ‘We are English officers, can you open the door?’
The singing had stopped and Hargest could hear some low conversation from inside the restaurant. He sighed, and banged on the door again.
‘We are two British generals who have escaped from Italy. We need shelter.’11
Hargest was on the point of giving up and trying elsewhere when someone drew back the bolts on the door and it was cautiously opened, light and warmth spilling out. Three Swiss men stood inside the doorway staring out at the bedraggled visitors before one of them broke the spell and gestured for them to come inside. Hargest and Miles went immediately over to the fire and crouched down, rubbing their frozen hands together over the dancing flames.
The proprietor and his companions were a little drunk, but sobered up when presented with the problem of the strange visitors. Hargest asked if he and Miles could remain by the fire till the morning. The proprietor, Antonio Soldini, gave them a large bottle of beer and questioned them thoroughly. Then he slipped out to make a telephone call. On his return Soldini brightened up and plied the frozen brigadiers with more alcohol followed by coffee.12 Evidently, he had spoken to the local police, for a short time later two uniformed officers arrived and joined in with the merriment.
Hargest and Miles bade a fond farewell to Soldini and his family and went with the policemen in their car to Mendrisio. At the station they were booked in, handed over all of their possessions, made brief statements and then were escorted into a two-man cell where they slid into a grateful sleep beneath warm woollen blankets.13
*
Shortly after dawn Generals O’Connor and Carton de Wiart, their rucksacks fastened securely to their backs, their legs stiff after so much exercise the day before, left the farm where they had sheltered for the night and began their day’s trek.
The weather was with them, for it was bright and sunny. Their
objective was to cross the grand Bologna–Milan trunk road between Modena and Reggio, so they quickly turned off the main Florence–Bologna road and headed cross-country in a northeasterly direction.14 The countryside, cut by numerous valleys, was alive with a carpet of wild violets. The combination of freedom, flowers, fresh air and sun lifted their spirits: ‘We gloried in our escape from prison bars,’15 wrote De Wiart, and the two generals marched off with a spring in their step. O’Connor navigated for them using one of Flight Lieutenant Leeming’s compasses and General Gambier-Parry’s maps and they never got lost.16
*
Later on the morning of 31 March, the Swiss police roused Brigadiers Hargest and Miles in their cell. After rudimentary ablutions and some breakfast and coffee the two New Zealanders were put in another car and driven through the town of Lugano to the Swiss Army headquarters in Bellinzona. Once there, the commandant and a colonel carefully questioned the brigadiers. ‘We made statements about ourselves – name, rank, where we had been imprisoned, and other minor details,’17 recalled Hargest. The colonel rose and spoke.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, in excellent English, ‘we believe what you have told us. But you did enter Switzerland uninvited, and without papers, so with regret we must continue to hold you in arrest.’18 This news came as something of a shock to Hargest and Miles, who had fully been expecting to be able to contact the British authorities and go free.
‘If you give us your word that you will not try to contact the British Consulate or the British Legation in Berne, or speak to anyone else or try to escape, we will send you to a hotel until tomorrow.’ Hargest and Miles both gave their word.
‘What happens tomorrow, Colonel?’ asked Hargest.
‘Tomorrow we will send you to Berne under escort,’19 replied the Swiss officer. Hargest and Miles were satisfied – at least that was one step closer to the British Legation.
‘Now, gentlemen, Private Knuzler here will be your escort during your stay in Bellinzona.’ Ernst Knuzler, a young reservist army clerk who spoke perfect English, stiffened to attention. Knuzler changed into civvies and then escorted the brigadiers to their hotel. There they luxuriated in steaming hot baths and took a meal in the dining room. It was all rather surreal to be free to mingle with ordinary people. In the afternoon Knuzler took them up to the old fortresses above the town for a stroll. The views were stunning, plunging down to Lake Maggiore. For Hargest it marked a special moment. ‘Sitting there with my legs over the parapet I was able to view dispassionately all that had passed in the last three years. For the first time in many months a warm peace entered my soul.’20
*
Later that evening, as Brigadiers Hargest and Miles sat down to another pleasant meal in their hotel dining room, Generals O’Connor and Carton de Wiart came to the end of a long day of hiking across difficult terrain. As the day had worn on they had started to see more and more villages, which was not a good thing. They had intended to keep contact with the locals to a minimum, so as not to attract undue attention. After days on the road they were looking bedraggled, their clothes soiled and beards starting to take.21 Coupled with their non-Italian looks and De Wiart’s eye patch and missing hand, they stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. O’Connor was concerned how long the ‘Austrian tourists’ wheeze might last, especially if questioned thoroughly.22
Finding shelter became a priority as evening came on, but, probably due their scruffy appearance and foreign bearing, they were turned away from at least three of the farms that they tried.23 On their fourth attempt they spoke to a very kindly lady, who seemed concerned that two elderly tourists needed shelter. She suggested, to O’Connor and De Wiart’s growing disbelief and alarm, that they go to a local barracks where the soldiers would happily give them shelter. ‘It took all Dick’s flattery to persuade her that the charms of her shed were infinite,’24 recalled De Wiart. So, for the second time, the two generals bedded down gratefully with Italian cows and slept the sleep of utter exhaustion. They were now almost 70 miles beyond the castle.
*
Brigadiers Hargest and Miles were not free yet. This was demonstrated on the morning of 1 April during a train ride through the spectacular 6,909-foot-high St Gotthard Pass on the way to Berne. When locals tried to speak to the escapers, the police sternly forbade any communication. There was the ever-present worry that because they had entered Switzerland illegally, the Swiss might send them back to Italy.
Rain began to fall as the train passed the Zugersee and steamed into pretty Lucerne. At Lucerne Hargest and Miles and their escort changed trains for Berne. On arrival in Berne the police handed the brigadiers over to another party of military police commanded by the tall and imposing Colonel Schaffroth. Taken to a house on the outskirts of the town, Schaffroth interrogated the New Zealanders for many hours until he was fully satisfied of their identities and stories. But the escapers were disappointed when at the end of the interrogation Schaffroth refused permission for them to telephone the British Legation. Instead, he told them that they would be taken to the Hotel Baren and held under the same conditions as before.25 It was extremely frustrating for the escapers to know that less than a mile away was the British diplomatic mission and sanctuary.
*
O’Connor and Carton de Wiart were up early, and after a simple breakfast from their limited rations they began hiking. They walked on a compass bearing, constantly checking their maps. The first thing that they noticed was the alarming preponderance of soldiers everywhere. They didn’t appear much interested in the generals, but it was unnerving to see so many Italian troops in villages and out in the countryside. Around lunchtime O’Connor brought them to a halt.
‘There’s a deep ravine up ahead,’ he said, pointing out the river on his map. ‘There’s a bridge here,’ he continued, moving his finger. ‘That’s where we’ll cross.’ Quickly covering the distance to the ravine, O’Connor and De Wiart were in for a shock. They hid in some bushes a few hundred yards from the ravine and observed silently.
The ravine was very deep, plunging down to a relatively small stream below. The bridge was suspended above the chasm, and under normal circumstances it would have taken them just minutes to get across and on their way. But Italian sentries, the sun glinting off their steel helmets, stood at each end of the long bridge, leaning on their rifles. O’Connor and De Wiart watched as they flagged down cars and trucks that wanted to cross and checked the drivers’ documents.26 The hunt was evidently on for the escaped British officers. It was obvious that trying to bluff their way across, even with Gambier-Parry’s excellent forged passes, would mean running a huge risk. They had walked so far that it seemed stupid to risk their gains by attempting to fool the sentries on the bridge.
‘We’ll cross the ravine further down, out of sight of the sentries,’ said O’Connor. But it was obvious that such an undertaking was going to put them behind schedule. They crept away from their cover and took a wide detour around the bridge until they found a spot that was quiet. De Wiart peered down into the ravine from the bank, his face set in a grimace.
‘Damned deep, old boy,’ he murmured.
‘We’ll go slow,’ replied O’Connor, his face also showing the strain. ‘Come on, let’s get on with it.’ Speed was of the essence. If anyone saw them crossing the ravine in such a fashion, climbing down and then up its steep, rocky sides, it would be obvious that they had something to hide. Any regular civilian would have used the bridge rather than risk a broken leg scrambling on the rock face.
*
‘I’m a British officer,’ stated John Combe matter-of-factly to the prison governor. He had demanded to be taken to see the official in charge of San Vittore prison. After two days locked in a cell, and facing an uncertain future, Brigadier Combe felt that he had given his comrades an excellent head start. Now it was time to end the charade and reveal his identity.
The prison governor was not convinced by Combe’s admission, and soon police were summoned to interrogate him.
; ‘My name is Combe, John, Brigadier, British Army,’ repeated Combe to the new inquisitors. ‘I escaped from Campo 12 at Vincigliata on 29 March.’ It took a while for him to be believed. The police seemed more interested in the fact that he had been caught in possession of false Italian identity papers, and the two- to three-year prison sentence was brought up again.27 But Combe knew his rights under the Geneva Convention. After some bureaucratic wrangling, confirmation of his identity and status was received at the prison from the Carabinieri authorities in Florence. Combe was told that he was to be sent back to Vincigliata the following day for punishment. After the horrible conditions inside the civilian prison Combe was actually looking forward to once more being in the hands of the Italian military. He also burned with a desire for some news of his escape partners. He felt a personal victory – he had withstood some pretty strident questioning and harsh imprisonment, including several times being threatened with execution, but had managed to fool his captors for over two days.28 Though he was bitter at his own capture so early on, he felt justifiable pride in his performance in captivity.
*
Air Vice-Marshal Boyd arrived back at Vincigliata Castle in handcuffs. As he was driven up to the massive entrance gates he felt very mixed emotions. Climbing out of the military car, his handcuffs were taken off and he was handed over. There was no sign of Major Bacci or Captains Tranquille or Pederneschi. It became apparent that they had been relieved of their positions in the fall-out from the escape of six senior Allied officers from right under their noses.29 The new commandant was Major Vivarelli, an officer whom General Neame described as ‘a most objectionable and spiteful person’.30
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