by Hamish Ross
For those who managed to come to terms with the after-effects of war experience and who went on to lead constructive lives, most, according to the Australian findings, were well-integrated individuals to start with and received support from their families. However, the past could be all-too-easily triggered; so, as American research suggests, they remain ‘highly symptomatic’. Of the Vietnam generation of soldiers who were able to cope and live useful lives, Shay concluded, ‘In the sense of regaining lost innocence, combat PTSD is definitely incurable.’30 From the Second World War veterans, without the benefits of knowledge and therapy, the conclusions were not all that different. When Audie Murphy was ‘once asked whether men got over a war, he had replied reflectively, “I don’t think they ever do.”’31 Perhaps Mayne was not asked the question, but he implied an answer nonetheless: in 1946, he wrote in his journal, referring to a carefree spree during St Patrick’s Day in 1940, before he had had experience of combat, ‘Lot of everything flowed under the bridge since then.’
Mayne met his death driving home in Newtownards about 4 a.m. on 14 December 1955. It came as randomly and swiftly as on the battlefield. His speeding Riley hit a parked, unlit lorry and cannoned into a pole carrying overhead cables. He had been driving home to go to bed for perhaps about two hours sleep before going to work next day. Although a resident was wakened by the noise, seeing a car with its lights on adjacent to the pole which was sparking, he assumed repairmen were working on the power lines, so the accident was not discovered until around 7 a.m.
Mayne had worked for the Law Society for nine years; the dominance of the war years in people’s minds was receding. The Editor of the Law Society’s Gazette referred, of course, to Mayne’s war record and the professional way he had carried out his work for the society. But, in effect, he acknowledged the continuity over time in Mayne’s character when he wrote, ‘Blair Mayne will always be remembered as a man who gave of his best in everything he did, and how superlative was his best and how varied his activities.’32 And, in a close echo of what had been attributed to Mayne as a young man before the war, he respected his modest and unassuming personality.
Mayne’s funeral, which was held on Friday 16 December, was the largest ever held in Newtownards – before or since. A number of men from the SAS Regiment attended, including Col Brian Franks (who first got to know Mayne in the Sicilian and Italian campaigns), Lt Col Lapraik, Maj Macbeth, Maj Ellery, Sgt Maj Bennet (who had joined the re-established SAS and who was one of the original L Detachment), Sgt Maj Mitchell and Mr Barnes.33 The short, moving service was held in Mayne’s home, Mount Pleasant, and conducted by his colleague and friend, the Revd Fraser McLuskey, Padre of 1 SAS, and by the Revd A.M. Adams. The funeral procession was a mile long. Mayne’s family, representatives of the bench and legal profession of Northern Ireland and the Irish Rugby Union attended. Bob Bennet, Jock Mitchell and Bob Barnes of the SAS Regiment acted as bearers. There were wreaths from the Colonel Commandant of the SAS, Gen Miles Dempsey, from the SAS Regiment and the SAS Regimental Association.
11
GROWTH OF A UNIT
The love that the SAS men had for him is usually striking; you have to talk to them to understand.
Douglas Mayne
Almost thirty years later, in 1984, at the opening ceremony of new quarters for the SAS Regiment, David Stirling, speaking of the regiment, described it in these terms: ‘We are a family.’1 Linking the generations of that family was the regimental association; and in his audience were veterans of L Detachment, 1 and 2 SAS, the Malayan Scouts and the Falklands conflict. Speaking en famille, Stirling used the expression, ‘the great Blair “Paddy” Mayne’. But what was the contribution that Mayne made to the growth and development of that family, and how did it – and does it still – perceive him among its circle?
On that same occasion, Stirling said that he particularly wanted to have his address published so that he was able ‘publicly to express my gratitude to my co-founders’.2 Among his five co-founders – he encompassed the modern SAS and its French counterpart – he listed, from L Detachment, Jock Lewes and Paddy Mayne.3 It was a generous statement on Stirling’s part. For Mayne, it is certain, would not have pretended to the title of co-founder: it was contrary to his nature to embellish what he had done; he was even reticent in taking credit for his own achievements. No, that was not the claim to be made on Mayne’s behalf. The diarist of 1 SAS, writing in 1945, expressed the understanding of those who had been in the unit since its inception: ‘Stirling gave birth to the idea, but found in men like Paddy Mayne and Jock Lewes the ideal leaders to enable him to put these ideas into practice.’4 That was so, but it was more than that, for it was Mayne who played the pre-eminent role in providing continuity and influencing the growth and development of the SAS during the war years.
For those who served in the unit there were three aspects of Mayne that set him apart: his effectiveness on operations, the quality of his leadership and his attachment to his men.
During the formative eighteen months of L Detachment’s existence, Mayne’s outstanding operational effectiveness, more than any other factor, vindicated the idea of small groups of men operating deep behind enemy lines. In successfully prosecuting the concept underpinning the unit, he was peerless. The simple, unadorned facts are that the destruction of over a hundred enemy planes was credited to the groups he led. Those close to him at the time saw his fieldcraft in operation. Mike Sadler said of him, ‘He was terribly observant and concentrated. He really concentrated on the job in hand and he really knew what was going on. Paddy was a tremendous operator – there’s no question about it.’5 In this respect his earlier skills on the sports field can be seen as a preparation for his performance on the field of battle. The ability of the player, and particularly the team captain, to read the game, select a strategy, anticipate the opponent’s actions and improvise accordingly – all this ‘requires a high level of cognitive self-regulation’.6 This, in part, is what Sadler sensed as he wondered if it was Mayne’s legal training that enabled him to concentrate so intently. The results of Mayne’s work are succinctly summarised by George Bergé, who led the French SAS in the early days in the desert. After the war, Bergé was the member of the military cabinet of the presidency who signed the decree for the Légion d’Honneur which was conferred on Mayne; and he wrote that Mayne’s great exploits will ‘remain forever in the annals of the SAS’.7 His achievements meant the unit’s success. As one of its number, Ernie Bond, an original member of L Detachment, put it, ‘A lot of the SAS’s strength was down to Paddy Mayne and how he worked.’8
As with his operational effectiveness so with the quality of Mayne’s leadership. The military, of course, has always been interested in the idea of leadership; and studies of exemplary military leaders form an integral part of traditional military training. But the Second World War brought into the forces large numbers of men and women – both volunteers and conscripts – who had not much by way of traditional military training, some of whom went on to achieve positions of leadership. This was particularly so in the case of Special Services. David Stirling in later years wrote of the important part played by the amateur in the SAS.9 Peniakoff, or Popski as he was called, an engineer in civilian life, led a Special Service unit; and he came across and was struck by exceptional leadership qualities that were not the product of a traditional military training.10
A traditional definition of military leadership has it as ‘projection of personality and character to get soldiers to do what is required of them. . .’.11 As to how this might be achieved, this view takes a pragmatic line: there is no right way: ‘There is no prescription for leadership; different individuals will motivate soldiers in different ways – by example, by persuasion, by force of personality, by charm or by any combination of techniques.’ This is perhaps a good working definition. However, Field Marshal Slim added another dimension to the idea of leadership. ‘Leadership,’ he wrote, ‘is of the spirit, compounded of personality and vision
; its practice is an art.’12 This view of leadership comes closer to a theory of leadership put forward by James MacGregor Burns, who posited two categories of leadership: transactional leadership and transforming leadership. According to this view, transactional leadership is when a leadership act takes place, but not one that binds leader and follower. The military statement referred to above, of a leader projecting personality and character ‘to get soldiers to do what is required of them’, would be said to be in that category. Transforming leadership, on the other hand, is when ‘one or more engage with others in such a way that leader and followers raise one another to higher levels of motivation and morality’.13
There were, in the Army in the Second World War, some men of whom it could be said that they exercised transforming leadership. Peniakoff described such a person under whom he served before his own unit – ‘Popski’s Private Army’ – was formed. Peniakoff wrote of Jake Easonsmith, who at that time was a major in the LRDG, that he had been a wine merchant in civilian life, lived a quietly contented married life, and ‘by all accounts he was perfectly happy with this low-level existence’. But with transition to active service, ‘he developed a new and powerful personality, as has happened to others in wartime’. Peniakoff described what this meant for one who was led:
He led us without using any of the tricks of leadership, for it was a privilege to do his bidding, a means of joining him in a superior adventure, as if he had some hidden knowledge which made worldly success of little moment, but gave immense value to our striving.14
Mayne was another of whom it could be said that his leadership raised men to higher levels. Some of those who served under him expressed the effect that his leadership had on them. The ability Mayne had to strengthen a soldier’s sense of self-concept was caught by Mike Sadler, who, referring to occasions when they were in combat, said, ‘He gave you great confidence in those situations.’ The attitude in general of the officers and men to Mayne was, in Roy Close’s words, ‘Admiration. Without doubt, admiration, not worship, but admiration and respect.’15 In what was after all a unit that contained many highly capable personnel, Mayne’s stature as a leader was also evident to the outsider. For example, Gen Vokes of the Canadian 4th Armoured Division ‘observed the very marked respect and regard in which he was held by his officers and men’.16 And, four months after Mayne’s death, expressing perhaps what comes nearest to the collective view of those who served under him, the Editor of the regimental association gazette wrote:
The gift of leadership and the ability to inspire complete devotion and loyalty were his to an exceptional degree.
In spite of his great physical strength, he was no ‘strong arm’ man. In the many operations in which he personally took part, and in those he planned for others, the same meticulous care and attention to detail was applied by him. He seemed to know instinctively exactly what the enemy’s reaction would be to the devastating raids he carried out far behind the enemy lines, and was able to give his order accordingly.17
He was a soldier’s leader, and therefore, as one would expect, there is nothing on the record to suggest that Mayne failed to show restraint on the field. From the Litani river operation, which gave insight into his actions and attitudes in close-quarter fighting; to his feelings for the demoralised enemy soldiers in the desert, who wanted to be taken prisoner, rather than return to their own lines; to his laconic account of the first Wadi Tamet raid, attacking a building housing the enemy; to his description of Stirling, himself and four others firing on enemy transport – all show a disciplined approach. In prosecuting this type of warfare, the SAS had not been first in the field: the LRDG, under Bagnold, had carried out aggressive raids as well as information-gathering penetrations. And Gen Wavell summed up the value of these LRDG fighting raids, and, by extension, the entire work of the SAS, as having ‘caused the enemy, in lively apprehension of their activities, to tie up considerable forces’.18 So, in terms of pursuing a just war, under both Stirling’s leadership of the unit and Mayne’s, it can be claimed that the old legal and theological requirement was met: the harm caused by a military action should not be disproportionate to the good the action achieves.
But Mayne’s grasp of leadership went beyond the battlefield and relationships with his men. He had an understanding of how the unit should be managed and led if it was to remain in existence. After Stirling’s capture in 1943, it was Mayne’s commitment to the original philosophy of the unit that was essential in ensuring that it was not absorbed into the Commandos.19 For when it was being argued in some quarters that its raison d’être had ceased, that a different campaign had to be waged in Sicily and mainland Italy which required assault troops, he held out. ‘He still cherished the idea of continuing at some later date the work begun in the desert.’20 So while the unit was scaled down and restyled the Special Raiding Squadron, and developed new strengths – which is to say that the individual members of the unit trained and retrained and acquired new skills – it was with a long-term aim in mind. Mayne understood the assault role; he had trained for it in the Commandos and he was determined that in undertaking it his own men should excel. And they did. But it did not happen by good luck: Mayne strove for it, and led and managed the transition. Those in the regiment at the time understood Mayne’s achievement. One of Mayne’s colleagues at the time, Roy Close, in his postwar career became Director-General of the British Institute of Management; and from that standpoint he reflected:
Credit is rightly due to David Stirling for founding the SAS concept and getting it accepted. He founded the regiment. But tremendous credit has to go to Paddy for holding the regiment together after David was captured: it could have folded. Paddy had great leadership skills; he was a reflective man and a very clever man.21
The extent to which Mayne succeeded during that transitional period can be gauged by Gen Dempsey’s assessment that he had never before met a unit in which he had as much confidence as he had in the Special Raiding Squadron. Among the reasons Dempsey gave for their high calibre were that they: took their training seriously; were well disciplined; were physically fit; had confidence in their abilities; but, notwithstanding that confidence, planned very carefully.22 It was what Mayne insisted on and strove for, ruthlessly returning to unit – even hours before setting out on a raid – anyone not measuring up.
A key component in the make-up of a successful leader is the quality of that person’s judgement; and in this regard, Mayne was very sure-footed. His support for Brian Franks in 1943 was vindicated when the following year Franks went on to command 2 SAS. Then when the unit was upgraded to full regimental strength – before the campaign in France – it had to be done in a very short timescale, and Mayne had the complex job of grafting onto it men with disparate experiences. His choice of senior officers was judicious; and the extent to which he himself conducted recruitment of officers and men meant that he had detailed knowledge of personnel as well as oversight of the enlarging unit. And the care he took to retain – and commission – experienced men like Badger and Almonds underline that he was a secure, confident commander.
The unit’s style of management suited Mayne, but it pre-dated his taking command: it had been part of the basic culture which Stirling promoted; and it was necessary if a small close-knit unit was to operate successfully. The American psychologist Abraham Maslow was particularly interested in how different organisational groups were managed, and he noted that in units such as Merrill’s Marauders and Special Forces participative management tended to replace authoritarian hierarchy. Maslow thought that the management of these units would be worthy of research; his hypothesis was that in these units the principles of enlightened management are better than classical authoritarian military principles.23 By enlightened management, he had a number of assumptions in mind that underpinned managers’ thinking: those who have been selected for a particular job should be trusted; they should be kept informed as much as possible about the situation, because they want to achieve the same o
bjectives; they should be encouraged to work as part of a team; they like to be fairly appreciated, especially publicly; but also that people can take it on the chin – fair criticism is healthy – and they can be objective about their own capacity and that of others.24 That probably summarises how the SAS was managed. According to Roy Close, the style was appreciated by officers and men, and indeed it has continued in the regiment:
The discipline was there, but it was unobtrusive and understood; and that really is the hallmark of the SAS. We knew who was who. It’s epitomised, I think, by a weekend reunion at Hereford fairly recently which the regiment very kindly gave to what they call the veterans on the occasion of an anniversary of the regiment’s foundation. The regiment entertained us and our wives or girlfriends and served us our meals. And we didn’t know whom we sat next to, and by whom we were being served: an NCO, a trooper or an officer. One discovered who they were over the meal as we chatted.25