The Long Range Desert Group in World War II

by Gavin Mortimer

  The aftermath of the bitter battle for Leros. Despite the wreckage of these vessels, the LRDG managed to evacuate the majority of its men in the days after the island fell. (Getty)

  Tilney and his HQ staff were well protected from the daily air raids on the island, but not so the men under his command. Since October they had been dive bombed by Stukas with a regularity that was fraying the nerves of everyone cowering in the fox-holes and slit trenches. The men dug in around the gun batteries came in for particular attention from the Stukas. One such 6-inch battery was reinforced by Captain John Olivey and his S1 Patrol of southern Africans. They were positioned on Point 320, which in Olivey’s words was ‘an almost sheer rock mound rising 1,000ft above the sea [also known as Mt Clidi]. It commanded a complete view to the north with the exception of the N.W. corner.’2 To the north, approximately two miles away, were two large bays and dotted beyond them was a smattering of small islands. To the east, the coast swung round past a sandy beach on the southern end and disappeared from sight behind Mt Vedetta. One of the men with Olivey was signalman John Kevan, who one morning was making his way back to the battery from answering a call of nature further down the mountain. As the Stukas swooped with a terrifying shriek, Kevan ‘flattened myself against the almost perpendicular rock about twenty feet below the guns, taking what cover I could under a slight overhang of rock’.3 The whole mountain seemed to shake and roar as the bombs fell. Kevan covered his head with his hands as lumps of rock bounced off his body and his ears rang with the thunderous noise. When he emerged from the rock he discovered the battery had taken a direct hit. There were no casualties, but the gun had had its barrel blown off. Olivey gave a rueful shake of his head as he and Kevan stood among the devastation. ‘While he and I were discussing the damage, he said “have faith”, and produced a bottle of whisky from behind his back,’ recalled Kevan. ‘How I blessed him!’4

  Lt John Olivey, seen here plotting the course for the day’s travel, was a brilliant special forces soldier who served in the LRDG right up until the last days of the war. (Courtesy of the SAS Regimental Archive)

  Secure in his underground HQ, Brigadier Tilney continued to strike a defiant note despite the increasing intensity of the aerial attacks on Leros. ‘No enemy shall set foot in this island unless to be a prisoner of war,’5 he assured the men under his command. Tilney was confident the Germans would not be able to establish a beachhead, though some of his officers believed that this confidence was misplaced because he had deployed his forces along too wide a front.

  As for the LRDG and SBS, Tilney held them in reserve, in effect a rapid reaction force, in the unlikely event that the Germans did land in sufficient force. On the gun battery at Point 320 on Mt Clidi, S1 Patrol had started to become accustomed to the air raids. Signalman Gordon Broderick, a 22-year-old from Hartley (now Chegutu) in Rhodesia, said ‘they learned to judge where the bombs were headed’ and a certain nonchalance took hold. Nonetheless, they remained alert for an invasion, and one night Broderick, on guard duty, observed some ‘silver shapes’ in the water below. He roused John Olivey, who rushed to investigate, only to point out that the ‘silver shapes’ were in fact cloud shadows. ‘I had to counter the derision next day by stating that at least it proved that those on Clidi were awake at that early hour,’ reflected the young Rhodesian.6

  In the early hours of 12 November, Broderick was once more manning the observation post. There were no silver shapes visible in the darkness, but when the first grey strands of dawn started to lighten the night sky, Broderick gasped in amazement. ‘A fleet of barges and other craft could be seen heading into a dead field of view beyond Mount Vedetta,’7 he recalled. He gave Olivey an ‘urgent call’, and the officer appeared. This time there was no scorn.

  As Olivey observed the first wave of the German invasion fleet – 800 troops in total – approach the north-east of Leros, he knew exactly where they were headed. ‘The enemy’s objectives were obvious, the cove below us,’ he wrote, ‘and the dead ground behind the hill to our N.E.’8

  As the Italian battery crew manned their guns, Olivey ordered his men to open fire on the invasion fleet. Broderick and Harold Todman, best friends who had volunteered at the same time for the LRDG, clambered into a machine gun pit below the gun that had been destroyed in the previous Stuka attack. They were joined by the Italian artillery officer, who directed his crews’ fire via a short-wave radio. ‘Seeing some Germans setting up an 88mm mortar, I asked the artillery officer to take it out,’ recalled Broderick. ‘But he replied that he should not protect himself and proceeded to fire at a barge slipping through towards Partheni Bay.’9

  An Italian anti-aircraft battery on Leros, similar to the one defended by John Olivey and his LRDG patrol when the Germans invaded the island in November. (Getty)

  The Italian crew disabled the barge but Broderick’s Bren gun proved ineffective against the mortars. More and more Germans were now coming ashore, and the mortar crews were starting to range in on the defenders above them on Mount Clidi. One battery received a direct hit, disabling the gun and sending the Italian artillerymen running. Then a mortar bomb landed on the lip of the gun pit containing Broderick and Todman. Shrapnel lacerated Broderick’s shoulder but, after having the wounds dressed by a medic, he and Todman moved the Bren gun to a different position and continued to fire at the Germans advancing slowly up the mountainside.

  During a break in the firing, Broderick heard a noise. A hum. It grew louder and then he spotted a ‘thin black line close to sea level, which approached rapidly from the south-west’. Olivey had also seen the strange apparition on the horizon. Then it dawned on him. Aircraft.

  Inside the fleet of Junkers 52 transport planes was a battalion of paratroopers from the elite Brandenburg Division, the closest German equivalent to the SBS. Olivey watched as the 40 aircraft approached in perfect formation at a height of 300 feet above the island’s narrow waist between Alinda and Gurna bays. ‘Everything was silent, every man on his gun, every gun pointing in their direction,’ recalled Olivey.10

  Broderick, like most of S1 Patrol, readied themselves for the bombs to start falling. Then Olivey realized the aircraft weren’t bombers. ‘Paratroops!’ he screamed, and ordered his men to open fire. ‘Every gun and firearm available to the British opened up from both sides of the central valley,’ said Broderick. ‘It was a wonder to see those planes run this gauntlet. Those of us on Mount Clidi looked straight into the flight decks of the Ju 52s and we added our contribution to the firepower.’11

  Olivey and his men had nothing but respect for the courage of the men hurling themselves into the air from the transport planes. But they still tried to kill as many as possible. Of the 470 paratroopers who emplaned for Leros, 200 were killed on the drop, either shot as they floated to earth or drowned in the Aegean. Another 100 sustained injuries as they landed on the rocky slopes of Leros. Nonetheless, nearly 200 airborne troops landed in the middle of the island, with orders to dig in and effectively sever Leros in two.

  The bulk of the Germans landed close to the position occupied by Major Alan Redfern and his LRDG force. ‘They dropped right across the narrowest part [of Leros] on the west of island, quite within easy range of our weaponry and it was impossible to miss firing into the clouds of paratroops coming down,’ recalled Ron Cryer, a Bren gunner.12

  Meanwhile, on Mount Clidi the German infantry were making good progress towards the summit, their progress no longer impeded by the Italian battery. A company of British infantry arrived to bolster the LRDG and together they dug new defensive positions in between holding off the advancing enemy. ‘Jerry was already at the perimeter trench,’ remembered Broderick. ‘A British officer ordered his men to fix bayonets but he was shot and the order was not carried out.’13

  One of the Rhodesians fighting alongside Broderick was Don Coventry. He recalled that ‘as it got dark we were engaged in hand to hand fighting’.14 The British beat off the Germans, although as the enemy withdrew back down the mountain,
Olivey realized they were dangerously low on ammunition. He contacted HQ and received permission to fall back. ‘We withdrew to a position on a ridge some 400 metres distant,’ said Coventry, the orders of the LRDG being to prevent the Germans from pushing north from the ridge. The next day, 13 November, was relatively quiet for S1 Patrol, but at 0200 hours on 14 November the British launched a counterattack against the Germans dug in on the mountainside. The attack failed, and Harold Todman was mortally wounded. The British withdrew once more. There was an air of weary resignation, and a feeling that the battle was slipping away. But similar sentiments were felt by the Germans. On 15 November the Wehrmacht war diary was pessimistic as to the chances of success, noting: ‘The fighting is confused and information scarce, and changes in control by the enemy results in a confused crisis.’15

  Ultimately it was German air superiority that wore down the British resistance, or at least the confidence of Brigadier Tilney. With him in his command HQ inside the Meraviglia rock was Colonel Prendergast and Major Jake Easonsmith, now in charge of the LRDG, both of whom had been sent by Tilney to scout Leros town in previous days. On the night of 15/16 November, Easonsmith was despatched once more to ascertain if German troops were in the town. He never returned. Word reached Prendergast that he had been shot dead as he approached Leros town. Prendergast assumed command of the LRDG. ‘I made a personal reconnaissance up to the top of the Meraviglia feature to see for myself was what happening above our heads,’ he wrote subsequently. ‘I found the top of the feature to be a very uncomfortable spot.’16 The air was thick with enemy aircraft, Prendergast counting several Stukas circling overhead searching ‘for a suitable target to attack’, while Junkers 88 were also dropping anti-personnel bombs on the feature.

  Worse, there were soldiers coming towards Prendergast. German soldiers. ‘We exchanged a few shots and then I went down to the main HQ and told the Brig[adier] that in my opinion it was essential immediately to stage a counter attack on those troops to push them off the Meraviglia feature,’ wrote Prendergast. Tilney absorbed the advice and said ‘he would see what could be done about collecting the necessary troops for the counter attack.’17

  Tilney‘s bullishness of the previous month had vanished. He was now diffident and indecisive. At 0800 hours on 16 November Tilney informed Prendergast ‘that he was unable to stage this counter attack and was proposing immediately to evacuate his HQ from the Meraviglia cave’. Prendergast was ordered to do the same, even though he wondered how on earth Tilney intended to control British resistance if all the wireless sets, as was the instruction, were left behind.

  ‘I told the LRDG HQ personnel to destroy all wireless sets and make their way to a certain house in Porto Largo which we all knew as it had been the HQ of Brig. Turnbull when we first reached the island,’ recollected Prendergast.18 On his way to Porto Largo Prendergast changed his mind. It was madness to evacuate the cave without any wireless sets. He returned to the HQ and was relieved to find the men still there had yet to destroy the radios. Contacting Tilney, Prendergast informed him of what he’d done and was told by the brigadier ‘to remain in the main HQ and run the battle to the best of my ability until he should return’.

  The artistic flair of Bill Morrison of the LRDG helped brighten up the sergeants’ mess of Raiding Forces HQ in Mena. (Courtesy of the SAS Regimental Archive)

  Tilney showed up a short while later with a few of his staff. None inspired much confidence. Many of the hours that followed were confusing. At 1600 hours Tilney instructed Prendergast to go to Porto Largo and round up as many men as he could. The time had come for a final stand. ‘After I had been on my journey for about 20 minutes I looked back at the Meraviglia feature and saw a large number of Germans on the top,’ said Prendergast, ‘and what appeared to be the whole of the HQ staff lined up outside. I continued to Porto Largo to look for my LRDG personnel.’19 Not long after Major George Jellicoe, commanding officer of the SBS, arrived at Meraviglia in a jeep having been unable to raise HQ on the wireless. He was furious to discover Tilney discussing surrender terms in the presence of several other senior British and German officers.

  Concealing his disgust, Jellicoe listened to proceedings and then made for the exit. The Germans blocked his path. ‘Where did he think he was going?’ they demanded. With his customary charm, Jellicoe explained that if the Germans wished his unit to surrender they must hear the news from their commanding officer in person. The Germans stepped aside and Jellicoe raced back to the squadron. His men greeted the surrender, what Jellicoe dubbed ‘the Anglo-German Peace Conference’, with a mix of ‘surprise and horror’. Neither they nor their CO had the slightest wish to spend the rest of the war a prisoner.20

  Guy Prendergast deployed a similar trick in Porto Largo when ‘the brig drove up in a jeep with Capt. Baker RN [Royal Navy] and two German officers and told me that he had to capitulate’. Prendergast nodded and said he would bring his LRDG men in. He had no such intention. Anticipating a surrender, Jellicoe and Lieutenant Commander Frank Ramsayer [RN] had ‘selected a number of places around the island from which the navy had been briefed to take off escapers’. One of the first LRDG men encountered by Prendergast was Captain Dick Croucher, an experienced desert veteran and brilliant navigator. He informed Prendergast that a party of LRDG, led by Richard Lawson, the medical officer, was assembled and ready to head to one of the escape points.

  In fact, Lawson, along with ‘about 36 other LRDG and 80 or 90 of other units with several officers’, were clustered in a grove of trees on the Patella side of Porto Largo on the late afternoon of 16 November. When Croucher returned from his encounter with Prendergast, he and Lawson split the group into parties and set off for different escape points. ‘I took 20 LRDG and went down the road to Porto Largo and then out across the hills to Patella,’ remembered Lawson. It was, he added, ‘a very rough journey and I had my big pack still full and heavy’.21

  At 2330 hours on 16 November they reached a gun battery just below Monte Patella. Though Brigadier Tilney had officially surrendered, many British officers remained where they were, waiting for further instructions. One such unit was still in possession of the gun battery just below the summit of Patella. They provided the LRDG with food and water and some of the men joined their party. By dawn on 17 November, Lawson’s party were well concealed above the escape point on the coast below. They spent the day observing German activity and ‘at dark we moved down to the point above the rocks and recced a position down’. There were no Germans, but nor was there any sign of a Royal Navy vessel. It was cold, the men were hungry, and some began to grow despondent. ‘Our men’s training stood out a mile,’ reflected Lawson, ‘and apart from that their whole attitude was quite different from the majority who were helpless without their officer.’22

  At dawn the next day a large Greek fishing boat appeared. Lawson suspected it was German. But by now their party had swelled enormously and as soon as the vessel approached the shore, ‘there was a general movement and about 120 people appeared from bushes and rocks like the dead rising’. Lawson, as the officer in charge, felt compelled to investigate. But as he emerged from his hiding place and picked his way down the hillside, he saw the men on the boat were Germans. Turning, he saw also a line of Germans on the hill above. By sundown, Lawson and all the men with him were under armed guard in Porto Largo. ‘Two German officers stopped in a jeep and asked if there were any LRDG,’ he recalled. ‘We gave a non-committal answer to which they replied that they were good fighters, and went on.’23

  In the next 24 hours the number of prisoners in Porto Largo increased from, in Lawson‘s estimation, 500 to 1,000. That was just the British and Commonwealth soldiers. There were also hundreds of Italians in captivity, and the place was soon a squalid mess. Discipline began to break down as more prisoners arrived. Drawing rations was a terrible business, recalled Lawson, ‘with little cooperation from many of the men who seemed devoid of sense’.

  On 20 November Lawson obtained permission from
the Germans to retrieve the body of Jake Easonsmith, which for several days had lain on the side of the road where he’d been shot. Lawson took a burial party with him, including Curle and Whitehead, who, having escaped from the Germans the previous month, were back in their hands once more. They found Easonsmith on the road leading to Leros. Lawson examined his friend’s corpse and was relieved to see ‘he must have died instantly’. Nonetheless, it was a distressing moment for the medical officer. ‘A miserable feeling of loss and [I] could hardly believe it,’ he remembered. ‘Whitehead made a cross and the owners of the house in whose vineyard we buried him promised to look after the grave.’

  Lawson returned to Porto Largo and thanked his captors for allowing him the opportunity to bury Easonsmith. ‘When you get to Germany you will meet most unpleasant people,’ replied the German officer. ‘Remember us when you do. We are the real Germans.’24

  When Lawson departed the island on a boat bound for a POW camp, he left behind a scene of humiliating devastation. In the five-day battle for the island, the British had lost an estimated 1,000 men, with another 9,000 wounded. Lawson was one of 3,000 British officers and men captured (along with nearly 6,000 Italians), and heading into captivity with him were 63 soldiers from the LRDG, including Gordon Broderick and John Olivey and most of the men of S1 Patrol. It was a huge number for such a small unit, but on the plus side, 70 had managed to evade the Germans’ clutches, including their commanding officer: for the moment.