by Hamish Ross
I am yours sincerely
Jean Graham16
Mayne had written on the letter, ‘The Lady Jean Graham’.
Decades later, this letter was to demonstrate not only the extent to which legend about Mayne grew after the war, but the power of legend to superimpose itself upon memory. When Lady Jean Fforde (as she later became) was contacted by the author, her reply was fascinating:
I am surprised on two counts that you found a letter from me to Paddy. I cannot remember writing it and am surprised that my mother allowed it because he drank heavily and my mother was very strict!
What happened to Paddy’s running mate Eoin McGonigal? Did he survive the war?
. . . I don’t feel I have much to offer because Paddy was too wild for me.17
However, Lady Jean was only twenty-three in 1944; she could not have written such an invitation without her mother’s permission. Therefore, in 1941, no tales about outrageous behaviour on the part of Mayne had come to the Duchess of Montrose from officers of the Commando; nor, by 1944, had picturesque stories about him circulated on the Isle of Arran (as is the case today), for the Duchess was not a remote figure in the community. In 2002, when Lady Jean re-read a photocopy of the letter she had written fifty-eight years earlier, and when she heard of Sir Tommy Macpherson’s comments about the relatively quiet demeanour of Mayne and McGonigal during Commando training, she came to the conclusion that the tales about him had probably become exaggerated over the years. And she added, ‘It’s so funny, Blair Mayne keeping that letter.’18
Social invitations for the regiment arrived. Some of them, on the surface at least, seemed a far cry from the fleshpots of the Middle East or the sirens of Bagnara Calabra against whose wiles the Special Raiding Squadron had been warned.19 Mayne was written to on 15 March and informed that ‘The female personnel of First Aid Post 2 Kilmarnock are having a party on Saturday 25 March at which they would like to entertain thirty of your boys. There will be games and dancing.’20
Serious training got under way. Since it had been agreed that the SAS would revert to its original role – working in small groups, operating behind the enemy lines, attacking enemy lines of communication and carrying out demolition and sabotage – there was much to be done, but time was short.21 The unit had not engaged in parachute operations since the first raid, in 1941: there had to be refresher courses. For those who had recently come from the Parachute Regiment, it was not repetition of earlier training, as Roy Close explained:
In the Paras we were expected to be dropped in strength in daylight in or close to a battle zone. So we had to be prepared for action on landing. There was a kind of a drill for quickly getting out of para harness, shouting to comrades of your section – or whatever – to form a defensive grouping while we got our bearings and then moved off to where we had to go. A lot of movement, lot of noise – perhaps under fire – and lots of people. In the SAS we were expected to be dropped in small numbers: from one or two to nine or ten; at night, clandestinely; and hopefully without the enemy knowing. Sometimes to waiting friends, sometimes not. So we trained to move slowly, quietly – rolling up your chute silently and hiding it – gather together, remove all traces of our having been there, and move off under cover. Other consequences of those differences were that we had training exercises designed to teach us to move over long distances at night, carrying heavy loads and finding our way by compass bearing. Learning to move into a concealed position from which you could observe a ‘target’ for a night and a day – or longer, if necessary. We were taught how to move into a town quietly at night, keeping alert for enemy patrols in order to do the damage we were supposed to do; how to handle explosives, especially the SAS’s special ‘Lewes bomb’ how to choose the ‘best’ ambush sites; how to drive a train!22
Expert advice was given on the most effective way to wreck power stations and railways, as Derrick Harrison recounted in his book These Men Are Dangerous:
At Kilmarnock railway station we studied the working of the railway system. Railway officials went to great pains to show us the easiest way to derail trains so that the greatest possible damage would be done to the track and other installations.23
They took their training very seriously and inevitably there was a litany of complaints from other services or the Home Guard about overzealous simulation exercises. However, Mayne defended all these on paper, and, like a good lawyer, conceded little. The men recognised that their training gave them confidence – this comes through in their operational reports – and the regiment’s chronicler summed it up: ‘This training was in every way excellent, comprehensive, and no detail was overlooked. All ranks will vouch for the tremendous value of this training in later operations.’24
The question, of course, that had not been resolved in late 1943 was that of which structure the SAS Brigade should be a part – that is until Lt Gen Browning took the initiative and got agreement for its inclusion in the Army Air Corps. Whereupon, on 25 March 1944, Brig McLeod sent Mayne a letter attaching a memorandum containing the arguments on which the decision had been taken to incorporate the SAS in the Army Air Corps. The paper began by conceding that the role of SAS troops would remain as it had been originally and reiterated what had been the unit’s policy since the early days: ‘Infiltration will be by land, sea or air according to circumstances, and training in all methods will be carried out.’ But it stressed that in the short term, owing to the nature of the forthcoming operations, the only likely method of infiltration in the early stages would be by air. By forming part of the Army Air Corps, it was claimed, the SAS would have a much closer liaison with 38 Group RAF, more aircraft for training and for operations, as well as the provision of airborne equipment. In the field of technological developments, it was argued that the SAS would share with the Army Air Corps the benefits of developments in technical equipment, aids and gadgets.25 The memorandum appeared to allow for the regiment’s unique method of working, including submarine pay if submarine operations were carried out. However, it also opened the door for conformity and loss of specific identity, which Mayne would resent. For the present, however, it simply stated that SAS badge and parachute wings were authorised; it said nothing about head wear. Brig McLeod’s letter to Mayne made no comment on the memorandum; he simply described its contents as perhaps being of interest.
On 17 March, 2 SAS returned to the UK from North Africa. Mayne had given some assistance to Dennis Reynolds and his advance party, but this was the first time that Mayne and Bill Stirling had had an opportunity to discuss matters that affected their common interests, for although both units had been together at the defence of Termoli, the party from 2 SAS, under Roy Farran, had been small (Bill Stirling was in the UK at that time). On 21 March, Stirling wrote in very warm terms to Mayne, ‘My Dear Paddy’. He thanked Mayne for all his help in getting them into their new camp and he sent his comments on what he referred to as ‘the jeep paper – all expressly subject to what you have to say’.26 Bill Stirling’s comments on ‘the jeep paper’ are not in Mayne’s file, but one sentence in Stirling’s letter shows his frustration with higher authority: he wrote that he felt his comments would ensure that at least the matter would be discussed. He ended, hoping to see Mayne on Friday. However, it was an omen, for in two months Bill Stirling resigned, and the command of 2 SAS passed to Brian Franks.
Meanwhile, unaware of the details of what was happening to the unit he had formed, David Stirling sent a postcard from his prison camp to Johnny Cooper, addressing it to Cooper’s home near Leicester. Stirling wrote it on 12 April 1944 via Kriegsgefangenenpost from Offizierlager VIIB. He was in fact replying to a letter he had just received from Cooper, and he congratulated Cooper on receiving his commission. Then Stirling asked him to get Paddy to write to him, and, for this reason presumably, his postcard was passed to Mayne. Interestingly, Stirling made only one reference to being a prisoner of war: he wrote that being in prison was nearly as dull as being at school, ‘which shows how much I enjoyed school’.27
&
nbsp; Their training completed, the unit began to move south. On 8 May, Mayne arrived in Croydon and that evening had dinner with Mrs Hanbury, the owner of Hylands Hall, where the unit was to be based. Next morning, Brig McLeod arrived after breakfast and stayed until 3 a.m. the following day. Later that day Mayne was in London and it was probably then, with Bob Melot, that he met Brig Wynter of the War Cabinet Historical Section, who was collecting information for the official record he was writing of Special Services. For Wynter wrote to Mayne on 12 May, ‘You may remember that you came with Melot to see me at the Army and Navy Club a few days ago.’28 He then went on to ask for information relating to No. 11 Commando’s operation at the Litani river. But Wynter, of course, was also writing the official record of the SAS, and from his letter – and a reading of his official account of the raid, which is based on two verbal statements – it is clear that no operational reports of the unit’s first raid at Gazala and Timimi had been passed to Middle East HQ.29 Indeed, there seems to have been a paucity of material, for Wynter went on, ‘I have written to Mrs Stirling asking if she can give me any information from D. Stirling’s letters.’ It is all the more ironic that over the years a caricature has been put about of Mayne as a man who balked at administration – it would be reasonably safe to wager that Mayne’s admin was more methodical than Stirling’s.
However, in early May 1944 Mayne had a busy social diary. On 9 May he noted that he had dined in the evening with Mary McCready. On 11 May he had a late night in the mess; the following evening he again dined with Mrs Hanbury, and afterwards they had a party in the mess. He simply recorded in his diary, ‘No sleep’. They then moved to an internment camp near Fairford in Gloucestershire, where they were kept in. Or most of them were kept in: Sadler was lucky enough to be able to go out, but most people had to stay in. ‘We had some wildish parties; there were lots of NAAFI girls’, he recalled.30
Before 1 SAS went on any operations, however, there came an order from the hierarchy and a response to it from Mayne which became known as ‘The Tale of Two Berets’. When SAS units came into the Army Air Corps, it had been agreed that unit cap badges would continue to be worn. However, Gen Browning, who had an eye for dress detail and symmetry, later issued an edict to all unit commanders that in future the red beret of Airborne forces would also be worn by the SAS Brigade. Mayne was incensed. He personally defied the edict and continued to wear the beige beret until the end of the war. But he discussed the situation with his officers and NCOs then briefed his men: on landing in enemy-occupied territory, they should remove the red beret, carefully placing it in the rucksack, take out their proper regimental headgear and wear it as they had done throughout previous campaigns.31
Mayne’s detractors have portrayed him as simply a man of action, assuming that that was his only métier; anticipating, planning, organising, coordinating and evaluating were not conceived as being within his province. Nothing could be more of a misjudgement. By 1944, in SAS work Mayne was not only the most experienced officer, he was the most experienced operator, having taken part in more operations than any other member of the unit. Neither at Brigade nor in the other SAS units was there anyone with his experience of infiltration and harassment behind enemy lines. So while his knowledge helped imbue the training of 1 SAS in the spring of 1944, it would also influence staff at SAS Brigade. Moreover, although the arguments for incorporating the SAS in the Army Air Corps were persuasive, there had not been a proper understanding of their peculiar needs in the field: the range of equipment that they required for sustained presence behind enemy lines was greater than the scale of provision that had been drawn up by the Airborne planners late in 1943.32 Mayne, however, knew the implications of self-supporting units spending prolonged periods behind enemy lines, having to repair Jeeps requiring spare parts and running short of fuel. So at the organisational level and in evaluating reports from the field, the SAS benefited from Mayne’s advocacy before Brigade.
However, there were features of the forthcoming campaign that were new and there were problems that had to be anticipated. One of these was supply. Unlike the desert campaign, the enemy lines could not be circumnavigated by land: airdrops were the only means of resupplying units in the field and they required swift and intelligent assessments of sub-unit communication at Brigade and thereafter excellent coordination with the RAF’s 38 Group. In the desert war the RAF had not performed a close-support role for the unit, but in France it was anticipated that there would be times when sub-units could call for a supportive air strike. Gone, too, was the time when teams of four men with water bottles and a handful of dates, lightly armed – a few grenades in their pouches and Lewes bombs in a haversack – set out to stalk an enemy airfield. The conditions under which they operated required men to carry more equipment; rucksacks had been issued, but they had not undergone severe testing in the field and there was disagreement over their robustness and their optimum load. A very important new item of equipment was the rubber-soled boot. It offered great advantage in night work, but there were also disadvantages: the sole left very distinctive tread marks by which, over certain terrain, a man could be tracked in daylight. More worryingly, there were instances during training when these boots performed poorly, with uppers parting company from soles. Depending, too, on the area, armoured Jeeps might be more useful than men on foot, but there could be difficulty with their concealment. Furthermore, Mayne would not personally direct all the unit’s operations as he had done in Sicily and mainland Italy: teams would disperse and operate over a very wide area. Therefore, Mayne was anxious to get accurate, detailed information as quickly as possible.
In addition, there was the complex political situation in France; and the SAS could not operate without the knowledge of the local population. Until shortly before D-Day, the Allied position had been that following the withdrawal of German forces France would be ruled by an AMGOT (Allied Military Government in Occupied Territories) – a position which de Gaulle worked ceaselessly to have reversed. Not only had the Vichy Government signed an armistice with Germany, it also adopted some of the sinister agencies of terror of the Reich, creating a pro-Nazi paramilitary body, known as the Milice, who were as vicious as the Gestapo. Official policy fell into conformity as well: authorities began systematically rounding up Jews and deporting them to camps in Germany. As late as April 1944, a huge crowd in Paris greeted Marshal Pétain enthusiastically. Certainly there was resistance. From early 1943, when the Communists finally agreed, all the anti-Fascist groups in France recognised de Gaulle as the leader of the Free French and all French resistance. However, the FTP (Francs-tireurs et partisans), the armed wing of the Communists, had a twofold aim: to fight Fascism and capitalism – they were not only ‘fighting for la patrie but for la patrie des travailleurs’33 the fight against the occupying Germans was but the first step. On the other hand, the FFI (Forces françaises de l’intérieur) – the Resistance groups in France fighting in the name of the Free French Army – was loosely organised and dependent on local leadership. With these two broad factions the SAS was supposed to harmonise efforts against the German military. Then, after D-Day, Pétain announced – and it was widely reported by government-controlled media – that what was happening in Normandy was not France’s conflict. How would the populace respond to contact with SAS troops, specially if their work led to ruthless enemy reprisals on the local population? So while there were general principles concerning control, which Mayne stipulated, he would have to wait for reports back from sub-units in the field. Hence the close scrutiny he would give to operational reports.
Policy emanated from SHAEF (Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force) and from 21st Army Group; general principles on the use of SAS troops had been promulgated by 21st Army Group. For the operations that Mayne’s regiment would execute, teams would vary in size from six men to squadron level; all but one were of strategic value. The exception was Operation Titanic. Mike Sadler was Assistant Intelligence Officer and later described it succinctly
: ‘It was part of a diversion that included dummy parachutists, and they went in to add a bit of body.’ Six members of 1 SAS, three from A Squadron and three from B Squadron, accompanied their ‘Michelinmen’ comrades to earth within the first hour of D-Day. In general terms it was a futile idea and costly for the team who carried it out. They attempted to do some local damage, but it was of no significance. They were alternately helped and betrayed by local people before being captured by some German paratroops when they were close to the Allied lines on 10 July. It was to be six weeks before anything like a coherent report of their activities was obtained by Sgt Maj Rose when he interviewed Tpr Hurst in a military hospital.
Operation Bulbasket, the southernmost penetration by a British SAS Regiment, was centred in the Vienne – north of Limoges and south of Poitiers – and it revealed, in rapid succession, the range of targets that could be attacked, the impact of the unit’s presence, both on the enemy and the Resistance, and something of the complexity of (and the inherent dangers in) the local political situation. One of the objectives of Bulbasket was to impede enemy reinforcements moving from the south to the battlefields in the north, and in particular to attack the railway lines Limoges–Vierzon and Poitiers–Tours. Others were exploratory: assess the situation on the ground, the strength of Resistance groups and the potential for SAS troops in the area. Mayne selected Capt John Tonkin of B Squadron to take his troop. Tonkin had already demonstrated his resourcefulness, having been captured during the raid on Termoli, then wined and dined by Gen Heidrich, the German Parachute Divisional Commander, before escaping.
Before 0200 hr on the morning of D-Day, 6 June, John Tonkin, Lt Crisp and a Jedburgh (a member of SOE) landed in France and were met by members of the Resistance, but were advised by their contact to move to a safer area.34 They were joined by Lt Stephens and eight other ranks who dropped two nights later and the group began to explore the use that the enemy was making of the road and rail network. On 11 June, they located eleven trains of fuel wagons, which Tonkin assessed were too strongly guarded for an attack on foot to succeed, so he sent a wireless request for an air attack. That same evening, Tonkin learned that a large German convoy – he estimated it as comprising at least a division – was moving north along the Limoges to Poitiers road via Lussac. But the remainder of his troop and fresh supplies were due to be dropped that night close to the Poitiers road along which the enemy division was proceeding. Nevertheless, he decided to go ahead and bring in the main party. When the faint drone of aircraft could be heard, he ordered signal fires to be lit. Only one of the aircraft in the flight located the dropping zone and made its drop – with spectacular results. The supply containers were wired with lights designed to illumine when the container impacted on landing – thus aiding their detection in the dark – but some malfunctioned and lit up as the container floated to earth. The enemy division halted, apparently on the assumption that this was the prelude to an air attack. But when nothing happened, it continued along the road. Before they left the site, the SAS and the Resistance group saw the flames in the sky of successful air attacks on the fuel trains. Then two days later, Tonkin heard that the Allied air force had attacked the enemy convoy, which by then had reached north of Poitiers. The ability of the SAS to call up two air strikes was not lost on the Resistance. Meantime, it was discovered that the enemy was using the Limoges to Poitiers railway, so Lt Stephens attacked and partly destroyed a rail bridge over a road.