The Vatican Pimpernel

by Brian Fleming

  Mother Superior had decided not to tell the young nun that she was in fact transporting cash for fear that she might become nervous and attract attention. These donations continued even when the Prince and his family had themselves to go into hiding in Rome.

  Another who found himself some time later as an unwitting transporter of cash was Fr Seán Quinlan (later Monsignor). The Quinlan family had been neighbours of the O’Flahertys in Mangerton View in Killarney and Seán remembered being carried as a child on Hugh’s shoulders on many occasions. He arrived in Rome in 1938 and renewed the acquaintance. He recalls being in the Monsignor’s office one day and being handed a large envelope which he was asked to bring to a particular address about a mile along the Tiber away from the Vatican. His instruction was ‘to hand it over to Giovanni’ and he did so. Later that evening he met Monsignor O’Flaherty who casually told him that the envelope contained one million lire. Many years later Fr Quinlan remarked that on that day he was very close to being either a millionaire or dead.

  These various contributions enabled the Council to increase greatly the number of localities they could use because they were now in a position to support financially those who were accommodating the escapees. Inevitably, however, as they became more successful, the number of requests grew. This, in turn, increased the risks to O’Flaherty and his colleagues as more and more people became aware of their work. The Monsignor spent countless hours visiting the various locations in which escapees were lodged and bringing escapees to them, often ignoring curfew regulations. During the course of this work he had some narrow escapes. Indeed we will never know all the details because of his self-effacing attitude towards his work.

  As time went by, the authorities gradually became aware of his activities and Kappler, the Head of the Gestapo in Rome, arranged for a watch to be kept on the houses of known associates of his, including that of Prince Doria. One day in the early autumn of 1943, O’Flaherty visited the Palazzo on the Via delle Corso where the Prince lived, to collect a contribution. The watching Gestapo officers immediately alerted Kappler who arrived with a large force minutes later. From an upstairs window in the room where the Prince and the Monsignor were talking, the Prince’s secretary noticed the commotion and raised the alarm. This gave O’Flaherty a few minutes’ warning of the impending search. The Monsignor immediately took his leave of the Prince, not forgetting to take the donation of funds. He had no particular plan in mind but he was aware that the Palazzo was a huge building and so presumably thought he had some chance of escape. Instinctively he went down to the basement of the house. Meanwhile the Prince’s servants delayed the admission of the Gestapo for as long as they could. On arriving in the basement, the Monsignor noticed that a patch of light was shining in and quickly realised that a coal delivery was under way. The coal was being delivered from outside the house through a trapdoor directly into the cellar. Having been distracted by the activities of the Germans, the coalmen had paused in their delivery, enabling the Monsignor to climb up the pile of coal and carefully look out to assess the situation. He saw that the two coalmen were standing by the lorry and approximately two dozen of the Gestapo were about to enter the Palazzo. He managed to pull in an empty coal sack that was lying on the ground and he slid back down onto the floor. He took off his clerical outer garments, stripped down to his trousers and vest and covered himself in coal dust. Just then, one of the German officers shouted to the coalmen to complete the delivery. As one of the coalmen approached the trapdoor, the Monsignor decided to gamble on his goodwill and, attracting his attention, advised him that he was a priest who was being followed by the Gestapo. Luckily for him, the coalman agreed to assist and came down into the cellar, allowing O’Flaherty to make the return journey towards the lorry in his place. The Monsignor had on his back a coal sack containing his outer clerical garments. Presumably any SS man looking at the situation assumed he was the coalman bringing back empty sacks to the lorry. O’Flaherty managed to walk past the Gestapo, go to the lorry and then beyond and make his escape. The sacristan of a nearby church was surprised when a coalman arrived, announcing himself as a priest. However, he quickly accepted this as genuine. O’Flaherty cleaned himself up, changed into his normal clothing and headed back to the Vatican. His extensive knowledge of the back streets of Rome, which later enabled him to write a guide to the Eternal City, surely came to his assistance. We can assume that the walk which normally would take about thirty minutes was completed in far less time. Several hours later, the Prince’s phone rang and he was surprised to hear the Monsignor at the other end.

  ‘I am back home, are you well, me boy?’ O’Flaherty said softly. ‘Fine, now’, replied Prince Doria. ‘Some day you must tell me how you did it. I am afraid Colonel Kappler is a very angry man. He spent two hours here and he did say that if I happened to see you, I was to say that one of these days he will be entertaining you …’3

  This very near miss led to the Council of Three taking a slightly different approach from then on, with O’Flaherty making fewer visits out through the streets of Rome and people being encouraged to come and see him, rather than vice versa. Now O’Flaherty spent evenings at the top of the steps to the Basilica saying his prayers, of course, as he was obliged to, but also being available to those who might need assistance. It was a very strategic position to take from a number of points of view. On a practical level, it would be quite easy for his colleagues and helpers to direct those in need of assistance to him as the location was prominent and O’Flaherty himself was a man of fairly distinctive features and was six foot two inches tall. In this location also, he could be observed by the German officers on duty at the boundary between Rome and the Vatican. This boundary was indicated by a white line painted along the ground linking the end of the two arms of Bernini’s Colonnades. At the same time, the Swiss Guards on duty at their station at the Arco delle Campane were just a few yards from him. They were aware that the authorities were very anxious to get their hands on O’Flaherty and that if they did he would never be seen again. There was always the possibility that the Germans would cross the boundary in an effort to catch him and the Swiss Guard were on the alert to stop any such endeavour. Finally and most interestingly, O’Flaherty in this position was visible from the Pope’s study.

  Despite all these concerns about his safety, and all the advice he was given in that regard, O’Flaherty still regularly ventured onto the streets of Rome. He did not always use the clothes normally worn by somebody in religious life and was known to disguise himself frequently as a street cleaner. At other times, he went through the streets of Rome dressed as a labourer or a postman. Anecdotal evidence would suggest that he also, on occasion, disguised himself as a nun. (It is hardly likely that nuns over six foot tall were a normal feature of life in Rome at that time, but then again, the Germans were looking for a priest. The Germans’ literal interpretation of instructions probably saved him.) This sort of activity subsequently earned him the nickname ‘the Pimpernel of the Vatican’. He got help in all sorts of unusual places. He had made a practice for many years of saying an early Sunday morning mass which was availed of mainly by men who worked on the trolley-car system in Rome. These proved to be an invaluable source of support and help when he was moving escapees through Rome in subsequent years.

  During this period, the Monsignor had to attend to his normal work at the Holy Office so John May kept daylight watch near St Peter’s. One of the first people to approach him was a Corporal, Geoffrey Power, who arrived there one day, like so many others, with no particular plan in mind. May noticed him and took him in charge, bringing him to O’Flaherty in whose office he stayed during that day. That night, O’Flaherty brought him to the Via Chelini apartment. A few days later he was moved on to live with an Italian family for the remainder of the War.

  The experience of an Irish Augustinian priest, Kenneth Madden, gives an indication of O’Flaherty’s ways of recruiting people to help. Fr Madden was a young man who had been ordained in
Rome in 1943. A nun who worked in one of the hospitals in Rome told him about an Italian family she knew of, living on the outskirts of the city, who were looking after a young British soldier who had escaped from a prisoner-of-war camp. The family were nervous and wanted to move this young man on. Fr Madden had known Monsignor O’Flaherty for years but had no idea of the work his fellow Irishman was undertaking. However, he knew him as a man who could be approached if one needed help and so told him the story. The Monsignor helped this family and moved the young British soldier to a safer location with Fr Madden’s assistance. Soon, Fr Madden found himself deeply involved in the work. One day Monsignor O’Flaherty contacted him with a request to make a delivery to ‘a few of the boys’. The delivery in fact was a caseload of medicine. Fr Madden was occupied with his duties and asked a friend of his, Fr John Buckley, to do the delivery. In this way, Fr Buckley also became an active member of the escape organisation.

  The Monsignor was at his usual post on the steps one evening when he was approached by a German Jew who was living in Rome. The Jew told the Monsignor that he and his wife expected to be arrested at any time and brought back to Germany. His concern was for their small son who was only seven, and so he was seeking the Monsignor’s help. He handed over to the Monsignor a very valuable gold chain and asked that the Irishman would use this to secure his son’s safety.

  ‘I have a better plan. I will put the boy somewhere safe and I will look after the chain for you. I will not use it unless I have to. I will get you and your wife new papers, Italian papers, and you can continue to live openly in Rome.’4

  Princess Nini produced the papers and the father and mother survived in Rome until the city was liberated. O’Flaherty placed the son in safe-keeping, probably in one of the religious houses, and the family were reunited a few days after the Allies entered Rome. The gold chain was returned.

  The Germans, meantime, had decided to arrest Prince Doria and his family because of their outspoken opposition to the regime, and raided the Palazzo. The Prince and his wife, together with their daughter, hid in a small room at the far end of the vast apartments. He thought they were merely delaying the inevitable and expected that they would be found but, as it happened, they were not. The Germans left, advising they would be back at seven o’clock in the morning. In the meantime the family got way. The Prince moved to live in a monastery, grew a beard and eventually was able to walk around because he fitted the role of a monk so well. The Princess and her daughter were hidden safely away by O’Flaherty in two different houses. All remained safe until the Liberation after which the Prince was made Mayor of Rome by the new Government.

  At all times one of O’Flaherty’s staunchest supporters was Molly Stanley. Molly had come to Italy to learn the language as a young woman. She stayed there for the rest of her life and proved to be a very valuable ally to the Monsignor because of her intimate knowledge of Rome. Molly lived with the Duchess of Sermoneta, where she was employed to act as tutor to the children. The Duchess was a friend of Monsignor O’Flaherty’s and it was in her house that Molly first met him. He was in the centre of the floor, doing card tricks for Onorato, the Duchess’ son, and Miss Stanley observed this with great interest as her brother was a professional magician back in England. Soon she began to help the Monsignor in his work with escapees, concentrating particularly on helping supply them with food and visiting hospitals and prisons. Molly was just five foot two inches tall which assisted her in her role as one of the Monsignor’s helpers because she tended not to be noticed as she went about her business. One of the main functions which she fulfilled for the next few years was accompanying the Monsignor on his trips through Rome whether he was in clerical garments or disguised. A man on his own attracted more attention than when he was in the company of a woman, walking through the streets. The only problem for Molly was keeping up with the Monsignor’s gigantic strides.

  One night when he was in his usual position at the top of the steps, Molly came to O’Flaherty, notwithstanding that the curfew was in operation. She told him that one of his earliest supporters, Prince Caracciolo, had been betrayed to Kappler. The authorities were planning to raid the Prince’s house that night. O’Flaherty immediately went to scrounger-in-chief John May and asked him to borrow a Swiss Guard’s uniform at once. While May was off on this errand, one of the Irish priests who helped O’Flaherty was sent off to bring the Prince, warning him that he was to come immediately because there was about an hour for him to make his escape. He was brought to St Monica’s Monastery, opposite the Holy Office, just yards from one of the colonnades. There he changed into the Swiss Guard’s uniform. Then the Prince and O’Flaherty went to stand in what must have been, at night-time, the very stark location of the Bernini Colonnades to await the changing of the Swiss Guard. Precisely at midnight, five members of the Swiss Guard led by an officer marched through the Arco delle Campane to relieve their colleagues on duty in the historic square. As those who were going off duty marched back, they passed quite close to O’Flaherty and the Prince who, now in the full regalia of a Swiss Guard, quickly joined the marching group. As they passed near the German College he slipped into safety.

  The same tactic was used some time later to assist the sister of a Vatican nobleman who was being sought by the Fascists. This time O’Flaherty used it to get her into the British Legation. At the midnight changing of the guard she joined the troop as it walked by into the Vatican property and, as the end of the marching column passed where O’Flaherty and May were hiding, the Monsignor reached out and brought her into the shadows. The Guards marched on and John May escorted her into British Legation. She remained in hiding there until the Liberation of Rome.

  An Irish Guards officer, Colin Lesslie, was captured in Tunisia towards the end of March 1943. However, in September, when he was being moved for medical treatment, he managed to escape from his captors. He made his way into the Apennine mountains where a local peasant, like many of his countrymen, risked death to help the escapee. He stayed in a cottage in the mountains until the onset of winter forced him to think of other possibilities. At that stage, the local partisans introduced Cedo Ristic to the Irishman. Lieutenant Ristic Cedomir was a Yugoslav officer who was in charge of an area in the north of Italy where hundreds of escapees were in hiding, many making their way to neutral Switzerland. Ristic had some financial resources available which were used to provide Lesslie with proper clothing and a train ticket to Rome. As it was the Italians who were looking for him, not the Germans, he sat in a carriage with five SS men on the train journey and he reached the Eternal City safely on the morning of 20 October.

  Instinct suggested to him that the safest place for him to stay was a church so he spent the day moving from church to church until the onset of darkness when he went into the office of the International Red Cross in the Via Sardinia where he knew Ristic worked from time to time. As it happened, Ristic was on duty and he brought him to the closed-up British Embassy which, as we know, was in the care of Secundo Constantini. Presumably because the building was closed up, the Germans kept no proper watch on the former British Embassy. Constantini kept there a supply of spare clothing and nobody ever seemed to notice that people went into the empty building in a rather ragged condition but came out well dressed. Because no watch was being kept, it was easy for Lesslie to be smuggled in, and he spent a week there. However, Constantini knew that this was a risky arrangement and it could not go on forever, so he made contact with O’Flaherty. The Monsignor called and was delighted to meet the first of his own countrymen to whom he could offer assistance. O’Flaherty reasoned that it would be safer to move Lesslie at night so he undertook to return at 8.00 p. m. He arrived back at the Embassy carrying the full regalia of a Monsignor. O’Flaherty himself wore the simple clothing of an ordinary priest. O’Flaherty had a small black car at the back door of the Embassy and swiftly drove Lesslie towards St Peter’s Square and up to the Arco delle Campane. Then they had to face the difficulty of walking into the
Vatican. The clerical disguise worked perfectly and the two passed through and made their way into the Vatican City and Hospice Santa Marta. There Lesslie was introduced to the British Minister, D’Arcy Osborne, and they were shortly joined by Harold Tittmann, the American Chargé d’Affaires. He briefed the two diplomats and the Monsignor on the situation in relation to prisoners of war in the north of Italy. After that meeting, O’Flaherty brought Lesslie to his accommodation in the German College and they sat down to a meal. As always the meal was served by one of the German nuns, causing Lesslie some confusion and concern, but he was soon reassured. The following day O’Flaherty took him to the apartment in the Via Domenico Chelini and subsequently moved him on a couple of occasions. The difficulty was that, at six foot tall, it was difficult to pass the Irish Guardsman off as an Italian, so for safety reasons he was moved to the American College. There he joined a motley crew which included fifteen American citizens of Italian extraction who had been unable to get to the US after the attack on Pearl Harbour, eight British soldiers, one American GI, two American airmen and an Italian Air Force pilot who was on the run because he had been involved in the move which led to the Italian surrender.

  Lesslie was very anxious to get word back to his wife Eileen that he was safe. When he had been first captured he was aware that Eileen had been visited by the village policeman and told that her husband had been killed in action. She had subsequently learned that he was in fact a prisoner of war but after that, when he escaped again, he was reported to have been killed. John May devised a simple mechanism for getting word back to Eileen: Lesslie was asked to write a cheque for £5 on a plain piece of paper to which May affixed a stamp. May sent the cheque through the Vatican diplomatic bag to his bank in Palmer’s Green in London. A few days later Mrs Lesslie got a message asking her to visit her own bank manager at Lloyds in Old Bond Street where she was shown the cheque and of course was able to identify the handwriting. This very ingenious and simple way of getting word back home was used over and over again to reassure families.