The Lost Band of Brothers Read online

  For Edward Stanley D. Sewell, my grandson, with my love. Who, although he doesn’t know it yet, enjoys a life of freedom purchased with the courage of men such as these.

  The Germans have a phrase for heroes: ‘Always the tallest poppies [Mohnblumen] are taken’. These were proper people and I hope that some day a book will be written about them.

  Lord Lovat, March Past

  Acknowledgements

  My thanks go, first and foremost, to the relatives of the men whose wartime exploits are described below. Without them, Britain’s ‘band of brothers’ would have stayed in the shadows of history: To ‘J.E.A.’, Ernest Appleyard, whose labour of love and sorrow – the publication of Geoffrey, a slim volume of letters sent home by his son – has provided the framework for all that follows and has been quoted from frequently; to John Appleyard, Geoffrey’s half-brother, for his help and support, and for escorting me around Linton, the one-time family home; to the distant relatives of Gus March-Phillipps, Christina Bennett and Harriet Greer, for the loan of family photographs and whose retrieval of a tape and a long-forgotten transcript brought the story of Gus to life; to Jennifer and Tom Auld; to Malcolm Hayes, Graham Hayes’ nephew, for the loan of other photographs and for filling in some of the gaps; to Annabel Grace Hayes, Graham’s niece, who shared a suitcase of forgotten letters and papers; to Chris Rooney, son of Oswald ‘Mickey’ Rooney, for photographs and useful background; to Peter Stokes, MBE, son of Horace ‘Stokey’ Stokes, whose almost-forgotten, unpublished, well-written memoirs brought those days so vividly to life; and to James Edgar in Australia, doughty survivor of Operations Branford and Basalt, and a veteran who still, at 93, enjoys total recall of those turbulent days. I am grateful also to Phil Ventham, local Dorset historian, and to the current owners of Anderson Manor, who allowed me into their beautiful home, patiently answered my questions and showed me where the ghosts once walked.

  My thanks also go to historian Major General Julian Thompson, CB, OBE, commander of 3 Commando Brigade during the Falklands conflict and Visiting Professor at the Department of War Studies, King’s College, London; to Lt Col David Owen, MBE, curator of the Royal Corps of Transport (formally RASC) Medal Collection, held at the headquarters of the Royal Logistic Corps at Deepcut, Surrey; to Colour Sergeant Gary Chapman at 3 Commando Brigade Headquarters, Stonehouse; and to David Harrison, respected amateur SOE historian. I am most grateful also to the helpful staff at the Imperial War Museum and at The National Archives, Kew; to Dr Steven Kippax, whose efforts on my behalf have greatly assisted in the retrieval of important wartime documents. Geoff Slee and his Combined Operations website were also able to open several doors. I am most grateful also to staff of the highly efficient National Meteorological Archive, Exeter, who were able to retrieve – instantly, it seemed – wartime weather conditions on what was to become Omaha beach and I am grateful also for the help of the United Kingdom Hydrographic Office, Taunton.

  I have drawn heavily upon the works of other authors to compile this history: Dunkirk by Hugh Sebag-Montefiore, one of the very best accounts of the fighting withdrawal to the French coast in 1940; The Commandos 1940–1946 by Charles Messenger; The Green Beret by Hilary St George Saunders; and Anders Lassen VC, MC of the SAS by Mike Langley. I am also grateful to French authors Gérard Fournier and André Heintz for ‘If I Must Die …’, their account of the Aquatint raid and to the late Peter Kemp’s now out-of-print No Colours or Crest. I am grateful also to Steven Forge of Oundle School in Sussex for his help in sourcing photographs of ex-Oundle pupil Patrick Dudgeon, MC.

  Lastly, I am more grateful than words can express to my wife, Marguerite, whose support and patience remained unwavering as I pieced together the untold story of Maid Honor and the men of the Small Scale Raiding Force. Because it mattered to them, it mattered to me and to her, that was enough.

  Contents

  Title

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  List of Abbreviations

  Foreword

  Prelude

  1 Das Sichelschnitt – the ‘sickle cut’

  2 Backs to the Wall

  3 Commando Training

  4 Cloaks and Rudders

  5 Kayaks and Medals

  6 Passage to Africa

  7 With Friends Such As These …

  8 Assault on a Duchess

  9 A Very Proper Lie

  10 Medals, Marjorie and Marriage

  11 Anderson Manor

  12 Raiders

  13 ‘A small and very unobtrusive party …’

  14 Disaster

  15 Loss and Condolence

  16 The Tying of Hands

  17 Friends and Enemies in High Places

  18 Operation Fahrenheit

  19 Eclipse

  20 Endings

  Bibliography

  Plates

  Copyright

  List of Abbreviations

  AA

  Anti-Aircraft

  ACNS(H)

  Assistant Chief of the Naval Staff (Home)

  ADC

  Aide-de-Camp

  AuxUnits

  Auxiliary Units

  BEF

  British Expeditionary Force

  BREN

  Section light automatic weapon, .303 cal.

  ‘C’

  Head of SIS

  CCO

  Chief of Combined Operations

  COHQ

  Combined Operations Headquarters

  CD

  Executive Director, SOE

  C-in-C

  Commander-in-Chief

  CIGS

  Chief of the Imperial General Staff

  CND

  Confrérie de Notre Dame

  CSDIC

  Combined Services Detailed Interrogation Centre

  DDOD (I)

  Deputy Director Operations Division (Irregular)

  DFC

  Distinguished Flying Cross

  DMO

  Director of Military Operations

  DSO

  Distinguished Service Order

  DZ

  Drop Zone

  OC

  Officer Commanding

  GOC

  General Officer Commanding

  GRT

  Gross Register Tonnage

  GS(R)

  General Staff (Research)

  ‘M’

  Brigadier Colin Gubbins, Director of Operations & Training, SOE

  MEW

  Ministry of Economic Warfare

  MBE

  Member of the British Empire

  MC

  Military Cross

  MI(R)

  Military Intelligence (Research)

  MGB

  Motor Gun Boat

  MTB

  Motor Torpedo Boat

  NID(C)

  Naval Intelligence Division (Clandestine)

  POW

  Prisoner of War

  RA

  Royal Artillery

  RAF

  Royal Air Force

  RAFVR

  Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve

  RASC

  Royal Army Service Corps

  RTU

  Returned to Unit

  SAS

  Special Air Service

  SO

  Chairman, SOE

  SO2

  Fusion of Section D and MI (R) that became SOE

  SOE

  Special Operations Executive

  SIS

  Secret Intelligence Service

  SS

  Schutzstaffel

  SSRF

  Small Scale Raiding Force

  STEN

  Personal automatic weapon, 9mm cal.

  VC

  Victoria Cross


  W/T

  Wireless Telegraphy

  ZNO

  Zone Non-occupée

  ZO

  Zone Occupée

  ZP

  Foreign Office

  Foreword

  Major General Julian Thompson, CB, OBE

  This is a story about a group of men, of whom Brigadier Lord Lovat wrote ‘These were proper people and I hope that some day a book will be written about them.’ Well, here it is at last.

  The Second World War saw the birth of a host of special units, many in response to Winston Churchill’s wish to strike back at the foe after the ejection of the British Army from France in June 1940. Those who joined them did so for a variety of motives: adventure, revenge for the shame of defeat in France and Flanders, to have a ‘crack at the enemy’.

  Many of these men were what might be described as ‘self-starters’. They did not hang about waiting for someone to give them a job to do, but often initiated the task themselves. The people in this book were no exception. In this case soldiers in the Special Operations Executive (SOE), but actually part of the Combined Operations Small Scale Raiding Force (SSRF) founded by Vice Admiral Lord Louis Mountbatten in February 1942. In the early days of Special Forces, units often found themselves serving two or more masters. Occasionally members of such a unit were able to play on the ‘left hand not quite knowing what the right hand was up to’ to their advantage. This could be counter-productive. For example, the leaders of the SSRF exerted pressure on their masters to authorise nightly raids along the whole coastline of occupied Europe, unaware whether or not this fitted in with the overall plan which might call for a more selective approach. For example, one might wish to avoid drawing attention to a particular stretch of coastline because it figured in future invasion plans, in which case a more clandestine operation might be appropriate. The problem: there was a lack of overall co-ordination of raiding policy at the time.

  But the story starts well before the founding of the SSRF and among other escapades includes an operation involving a trawler called Maid Honor, two tugs and an expedition to West Africa. The operation, codename Postmaster, breached Spanish neutrality and resulted in a cover up including some creative lying by Sir Anthony Eden, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs; Sir Francis Drake would have heartily approved.

  On return to England, the leader of the Postmaster force, Major Gus March-Phillipps, suggested that a small scale raiding force of around 100 men be formed to raid the German-held coastline of France – hence the SSRF. The small matter of ownership of the force was sorted out: it would belong to SOE, but Mountbatten’s Combined Operations Headquarters (COHQ) would task it. To add to the tangled lines of command and control, the Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) also had a ‘vote’ when it came to deciding whether or not an SSRF raid would go ahead or not.

  At first the SSRF was given two motor launches for passage across the Channel, but these were replaced by a Motor Torpedo Boat – MTB 344 – known as ‘The Little Pisser’ because of its speed. The Little Pisser carried a dory or a collapsible canvas-sided Goatley assault boat in which the raiders made their final approach to the beach from the MTB anchored or loitering offshore.

  Starting on 14 August 1942, the SSRF carried out three successful raids over a period of twenty-four days. The fourth, set for 11–12 September 1942, but delayed until the night 12–13 September because of fog, was a different story. By now the enemy, who were not stupid, were on high alert after the abortive Dieppe Raid a month before. The beach selected for the SSRF landing was an ideal invasion beach; it became Omaha Beach eighteen months later. It was well defended. The raid was a disaster. But this should not be allowed to detract from the reputation of the ‘proper people’, the men of the SSRF, including March-Phillipps, killed in the raid, described by SOE agent Peter Kemp as ‘the gallant idealist, and strange quixotic genius who had been our commander and inspiration’. The force remained in being, led by Appleyard, mounting its last raid in April 1943. By then the reconnaissance plan for the forthcoming invasion of France was tightly controlled and mainly done by the Combined Operations Pilotage Parties, the COPPs, the forerunners of today’s SBS. The SSRF was disbanded, but many of its members joined other organisations and continued to engage the enemy to the end, some dying in the process, including Appleyard and Anders Lassen, VC.

  Tom Keene is to be congratulated on his book and for telling us about these gallant men.

  Prelude

  0531: the first pale flush of sunrise.

  Soon, this beach will become famous as ‘Bloody Omaha’, a gently shelving killing ground to the east of the Cotentin peninsula in Normandy, France. Here, on another dawn, green American troops from the unblooded 29th and veterans of the US 1st Divisions of V Corps will slog ashore in the face of withering enemy fire from the bluffs behind the beach. Here they will endure the worst losses of D-Day as they attempt to claw a fingertip’s hold on Hitler’s festung Europa. An estimated 1,900 Americans will die on this beach on that single day.1 But not yet, for this is 13 September 1942 and D-Day is almost two years away.

  The beach is long, flat and billiard-table smooth: like Rommel himself, his anti-invasion obstacles have yet to be put in place. As dawn breaks along this 5-mile strand of empty, golden sand that stretches from Vierville-sur-Mer in the west to Sainte-Honorine-des-Pertes in the east, a slight haze lifts slowly from the flat, gun-grey sea and the low, crumbling waves that roll in on the last of the ebbing spring tide. Now, this morning, this dawn, this same tide brings with it to the gleaming shore the broken, sea-tumbled detritus of war: three bodies that now lie still, humped and sodden, rolled in on the falling tide. They wear British khaki battledress but have lost their boots and pistol belts. Two were wounded before drowning; a third has died from a gunshot wound to the head. Faces waxy pale and drained in death, they lie in crumpled abandon on this, the enemy shore.

  †††

  The dawn light gathers strength; visibility lengthens. Very soon the three bodies are spotted by the binoculars of the German sentries of 726th Infantry Regiment who man the six concrete strong points – Stützpunkt – that overlook this sector of beach within the prohibited coastal zone. Later this same morning German troops will recover a bullet-ridden assault boat containing 2 gallons of drinking water. They will also recover twelve wooden paddles, five sub-machine-guns, several primed Mills No 36 hand grenades – some in a small bag – three British army webbing belts, each with pistol and dagger attached in webbing holster and leather sheath, and a British naval anchor tied to 40 feet of hemp rope whose standing end has been severed by the sharp blow of an axe. Later that same day two British prisoners, their battledress still damp and caked in salt, will be ordered to drag the bodies of their three comrades above the high tide mark. They will be filmed doing so by a German film unit and this sequence will form part of the Nazi propaganda film entitled Midnight at Cherbourg. A further sequence, filmed on the morning of 15 September, will show sheaves of flowers and three coffins being lowered into the ground whilst the synchronised rifle shots of a Wehrmacht firing detail provide full military honours in the civilian cemetery of Saint Laurent-sur-Mer. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

  All three men who died were members of Britain’s Special Operations Executive and were on loan to Combined Operations’ Small Scale Raiding Force. Their mission, as so often before, had been straightforward, if hardly simple: to gather information, destroy enemy installations and capture prisoners to bring back to England for interrogation. That mission failed. Of the eleven raiders who had embarked on MTB 344 at Portsmouth at 2012 the previous evening, not one would return to Britain before the end of the war. And some would lie in the soil of France for eternity.

  Today, in England, there is little trace of their passing: a wind-swept secret mooring among the shelduck, heron and curlews of the Arne peninsula; a tiny hilltop church where brave men once hunched in prayer; a lawn of moles who garnish their burrowings with the tarnished .45 cartridg
e cases of Colt automatics and Thompson submachine-guns once ejected onto a home-made firing range in the kitchen garden above their heads; a haunted seventeenth-century manor house whose ancient oak staircase still echoes to the shouts of hurrying men, the clatter of cleared weapons and the skitter of hob-nailed boots; names remembered in a Yorkshire village hall and, in Dorset, a simple brass plaque, golden in lamplight, that pays tribute to men once needed but who have now stepped back into the shadows of history.

  This, then, is their story, written in detail for the first time before those shadows fade into darkness. There is no fiction. It is the story of the men of Maid Honor and the Small Scale Raiding Force. It is the untold story of Britain’s own Band of Brothers.

  Note

  1. The National D-Day Memorial in Bedford, Virginia, USA, has painstakingly confirmed 1,258 US deaths on Omaha Beach on D-Day. The research continues with many more names still awaiting confirmation. My thanks to April Cheek-Messier, Co-President, National D-Day Memorial, Virginia.

  1

  Das Sichelschnitt – the

  ‘sickle cut’

  Dunkirk. It was not a miracle, it was a disaster.

  Committed across the Channel to honour a promise, block an enemy and support an ally, British troops moved to northern France in autumn 1939, with advanced units crossing into France the day after war was declared. By the end of September 1939 more than 152,000 troops of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) were on French soil. By early October the first two BEF divisions had moved up to the front line on the Franco-Belgian border. The BEF: the very title of the formation of under-equipped, under-armoured units hints at a glance back to the reassuring certainties of Empire that were to have no place in the fast-moving battlefield of this new war that now awaited them, hull-down over the horizon.