I returned to the fort where I knew I had concealed a box. I was surprised to find the fort occupied by two Germans who took me for one of their officers. I was forced to shoot them both, but the noise attracted others, and I had to make a hasty withdrawal.14
Hungry, thirsty and weary, Olivey spent the rest of the night evading capture. Others were similarly engaged all over Leros. For some, their ordeal was to continue for days. Major McSwiney’s party waited in vain for the arrival of a rescue vessel until the evening of 20 November, when two Greek shepherds led them to a 12ft rowing boat that had been abandoned following an earlier, unsuccessful, escape attempt. After applying a makeshift patch to a gaping 6-inch hole just above the water line, the eight men put to sea. McSwiney recalled:
Our boat was leaking fast, and shipping water over the windward gunnel; we were being blown almost due south, and were being driven nearer and nearer to the huge cliffs of the island of KALYMNOS. At a crucial moment I insisted that if we did not make a mighty effort to turn the boat into wind, and attempt to row against it, we should soon be dashed against the rocks, and our chances of survival would then be very slim. Although a wave nearly capsized us as we made the turn, we were still just afloat, and bailing furiously, we pulled slowly away from the hideous noise of that vicious sea, which was pounding the cliffs with such force that we had to shout to be heard at all.15
Ten minutes later, the boat was steered into a sheltered inlet:
The transformation was extraordinary, as the moon remained strong enough to enable us to collect sticks and build a fire, around which we all sat, partially drying out our saturated clothing; and soon our teeth stopped chattering. A minute Greek chapel had been built in the cove, and with one of us on guard we slept fitfully on the stone floor, until a weak sun filtered through the windows …16
Over the next two days, the men rested and regained their strength by feasting on goat boiled in seawater. The boat was repaired using material found along the seashore and on the evening of 22 November the men again put to sea. They reached the Turkish coast after daybreak on the 23rd.
Lieutenant Clark and his party had resumed their journey late on Wednesday (17th). Several hours later they arrived at Lipsi. Local people came to their aid, and in the early hours of Saturday (20th) a Greek agent made contact with a caique of the Levant Schooner Flotilla. The ten were taken on board following which, to Clark’s surprise, they proceeded to the northern coast of Leros. There, the vessel embarked two soldiers of the Royal Irish Fusiliers, one of whom was wounded, and a wounded Italian, before steering east for Turkey, which was reached at dawn.
During the night of 20–21 November, contact parties were landed at Leros from High Speed Launches 2531, 2539 and 2542, the latter party coming ashore close to McSwiney’s former hiding place near Porto Cassio. The boats were scheduled to return at the same time for three consecutive nights. At 1.10 a.m. on the 22nd, HSL 2542 arrived at the RV. Onshore a light flashed, signalling the letter N. As this was not the pre-arranged signal, Private Miller of the SBS volunteered to investigate and took a dinghy to within 50 yards of the coast. When it was realised there was no immediate threat, Sub Lieutenant Tuckey, RNVR,17 put out in the remaining dinghy. They had located Colonel Prendergast and his party who had maintained a nightly watch in the hope of being picked up from the escape RV below Tortore. Prendergast described the moment when help finally arrived:
We went down to the beach as usual, and about midnight heard a craft approaching the coast. It hove to about half a mile from the RV, and for a long time did nothing. We could just see the dim black shape on the water. It then came inshore a little and we decided to risk everything and flash our torch.
This was a very exciting moment as we did not know whether we should be greeted with a hail of bullets or whether we should be taken off. Presently a small boat appeared and the occupant hailed us. We could not understand what he said or in what language he was talking, but shouted our names. After a lot of hesitation he came in closely and eventually came right up to us, and took us off to the waiting craft, which turned out to be an Air Sea Rescue launch.18
On Wednesday evening, Lieutenant Mold had again found Lieutenant Rochford. Subsequently, they teamed up with the same two signallers who had avoided capture at Scrofe. On 21 November, contact was made with a civilian. The next night the signallers were taken to an escape RV at Nikolaos Bay, on the west coast. The two officers followed on 23 November and were met by Captain Ashley Greenwood. After escaping with Ramseyer and Jellicoe, Greenwood had returned with a Greek, known as Spanias, as one of the three teams put ashore by HSL. Each night the tiny chapel at Nikolaos Bay was packed with desperate men who gathered in hopeful anticipation of being rescued. Unfortunately, Greenwood and Spanias were unable to re-establish contact with the RAF launch, which left them with no option but to arrange an alternative method of escape. By 30 November the situation deteriorated further when several German soldiers took up residence in the chapel. As a result, the Faughs’ medical officer, Captain J. Barbour, was captured when he unsuspectingly entered the building. Soon after, Greenwood got away in a rowing boat together with Rochford and, it is thought, the two signallers.
SBS Lieutenant Keith Balsillie had been hospitalised with dysentery early on in the battle and was left behind when his comrades made their getaway in the early hours of 17 November. Subsequently, he avoided capture for nearly two weeks before joining several others in a small boat and eventually reaching Turkey.
Lieutenant John Browne, although still suffering from his wounds, was also determined not to remain in captivity. On or about 1 December, he prepared with eight others to make a break in a small fishing boat. Their numbers were increased by the unexpected arrival of Mold and a Royal Irish Fusiliers medical orderly. Browne would recall:
That evening we were joined by Lieut Mole [sic] and L/C McGuire, who had declined to accompany us when we left Alinda Hospital. They had been transferred to Portolagos [sic], and there changed their minds when they saw the German ship all ready to take them away into captivity. Unguarded, they walked out of their compound and hitch-hiked back to Alinda in a German lorry.19
Space on board the cramped vessel was limited, and Mold and McGuire were particularly fortunate in being allocated a place, as neither appeared to be popular with the rest of the group. Browne added:
By now we knew them to be a selfish pair and did not entirely trust them; but, as it turned out, they did no harm.20
Those in the party besides Browne, Mold and McGuire were Captain Donald Cropper and Private Cliff Hodges (both of the Royal West Kents), Lieutenant Harold Price (until recently the forward observation officer on Clidi), an Italian sailor referred to by all as Tony, and four Greeks: the skipper and three men known as Londres, John and Constantino. Following a rough passage, they reached Turkey the next morning.
Captain John Olivey, in the meantime, was taken prisoner in unusual circumstances. Driven by hunger and thirst he had made his way to an Italian barracks on the coast below Clidi after daybreak on the 18th. There, he found some mouldy bread and bacon fat, which he consumed together with sour wine. Then Olivey climbed into a bed and slept for several hours. He awoke at 3.00 p.m. just as two German officers entered with three of their men:
The junior officer spoke perfect English and coming in, asked what I was doing there. Before waiting for a reply, he spotted my battle dress coat with the 3 pips hanging over a chair. He was obviously very pleased with his capture.21
Olivey later ‘demoted’ himself and, disguised as an ordinary private, managed to escape twice only to be recaptured. On 21 November, he was transported with 2,700 prisoners by sea to Piraeus. From the docks, the men were marched towards Athens where Olivey again gave his captors the slip, this time by fleeing down a side street. Two Greek women came to his aid, and so began a long journey to freedom for this remarkable officer, as he was passed from house to house until being taken by sea to Turkey. Olivey reached Cairo five months later, on 25
April 1944.
The fifteen men comprising Olivey’s patrol were prevented by the presence of enemy soldiers from reaching their escape rendezvous (RV). After waiting in vain for two days for their OC to join them, they had divided into four parties. The largest of these (seven men) surrendered on 20 November; two more groups were evacuated between the 20th and the 22nd (probably by HSL 2539). The last evader, Gunner Rupping, was taken care of by Greeks until his escape was arranged on the night of 4–5 December.
Many owed their lives to the courage of ordinary Greeks. After his heroic rescue efforts in the early hours of 13 November, Midshipman Ian Rankin of HMS Belvoir had watched helplessly as his ship made off without him. Resignedly, he struck out towards the nearest island, and at about 9.00 a.m. struggled ashore on the east coast of Kos wearing only his shirt and a lifebelt. Befriended by farmers, Rankin was taken to a nearby house where he was provided with food and clothing. But he was impatient to rejoin his ship and on 29 November, while reconnoitring preparatory to attempting to swim to Turkey, Rankin and a Greek friend were captured by the Germans and incarcerated in Kos Castle. Three days later, after an Italian had revealed the whereabouts of a tunnel, they managed to escape. Soon, Rankin joined thirty-one others on board a tobacco caique bound for Turkey. After journeying by sea, road and rail, he reached Beirut where, on Christmas Eve 1943, he boarded a train for the last leg to Alexandria, in Egypt.
On the neighbouring island of Kalymnos, local Greeks looked after the three escapees from BYMS 72. Within a few days, Leading Wireman Colin Crichton and Stoker Ian Yuill were taken by caique to Turkey. Able Seaman Henry Mariner was prevented by his injuries from accompanying them; he was later evacuated to Cyprus. Another of the crew was released from captivity in unusual circumstances. Stoker S.A. Hudson had been severely traumatised and was put ashore when the minesweeper called at Alinda. After being taken prisoner he joined other casualties on the hospital ship Gradisca. Lieutenant Geoffrey Hart of the Buffs relates the circumstances surrounding the fate of those on board the vessel:
When we left the hospital at Portolago it was at night. The Gradisca was in the bay and our stretchers were put on lighters (flat-topped pontoons or barges). I suppose there were about forty stretchers. The German crew took off all the stretchers except for mine and that of another Buffs officer, Lieutenant Gore. It was the end of November and cold. We were just left there at the side of the ship, but I could hear German voices inside shouting “Zwei Offiziere – Boofs”.
After about half an hour a German Naval officer and orderlies came and apologised for the delay but they were making a two-bedded stateroom on the promenade deck available to us and had sent the previous occupant, an Italian colonel, “down into the hold”. The Germans were as good as their word. We had a stateroom with windows overlooking the promenade deck. Lieutenant Gore had a bed against the window side and I had a bed on the inside. The German captain was an elderly Naval officer – of the Imperial German Navy, he said, “Not a U-Boat officer”. He was punctilious, a typical Edwardian senior officer, and did his rounds every morning asking if we were alright. The food was awful but I believe it was the same as the Germans had. The British Field Surgical Unit stayed with us all the time and operated on all wounded, regardless of nationality, but told us that they could do little as the theatre equipment and medical supplies were totally inadequate. I was told that there were the two of us (Buffs officers) and about 34 ORs from the battalion. The Padre of the King’s Own [Captain Edward F. Johnson] had also stayed. I do not know how many other British there were but there were a number of German wounded, Italians and, I believe, some French and Greeks.
We sailed about dawn and after a day or so called at a harbour in Crete. Here, a long column of German soldiers carrying full kit were formed up and marched onto the ship. Although I was unable to get out of bed I caught a glimpse of them through the window. Lieutenant Gore, who was only slightly wounded in the ankle, was able to give a running commentary. Later, I learnt that the ship was reported to have also being used as a trooper …
After a couple of days we left and sailed northwards for Trieste. My own condition was not good. My wounds were very gangrenous and nothing could really be done on the ship.22
On the evening of 8 December, Hart went to sleep as usual but was woken shortly afterwards:
Lights illuminated the promenade deck; the German crew were all shouting and running about and there was the sound of ropes being thrown and, I thought, of lifeboats being lowered. At first I thought we had struck rocks or were sinking. After a while the noise lessened and Lieutenant Gore opened a window and tried to find out what was happening. I then saw a blue British steel helmet at the window and, in close proximity to the wearer’s nose, a shining 1914 style bayonet passing back and forth. We called out and asked who he was and were greeted with a flow of expletives in a broad Scots accent the like of which I have seldom heard. In effect, he was saying that he had found blank-blank Germans, likewise Italians, likewise French and now he had found blank-blank English: what was this blank-blank ship, the blank-blank League of Nations?23
The Gradisca had been stopped by HM destroyers Troubridge and Tumult and the incredulous Scotsman was a Royal Navy rating. As soon as Hart and Gore realised what was happening, the seaman was sent to fetch an officer:
Almost immediately, a very young lieutenant came in to our cabin and asked us if the ship was carrying arms. He did hope that this was the case as boarding a hospital ship was really not on. We, of course, assured him that she must be as the column of German soldiers had boarded at Crete and at that stage of the war troops were bound to have arms secreted in kitbags if they were not openly carrying them. He thanked us and said he would report back.
The waiting was ghastly. Our own forces were obviously all around us and I longed to get to them but could not really move from my bed yet alone get over the side of the ship. Eventually the ship moved off very slowly. There seemed to be a lot of light and Lieutenant Gore thought he could see a naval vessel quite close.
Eventually, somebody – I think the King’s Own Padre – came to our room and said that the German captain had invited the British officers to the Wardroom for drinks. He considered that we were still his prisoners but he had a British Naval officer on his bridge who had really taken over his ship. I, of course, could not go, but they sent me down a bottle of beer! Lieutenant Gore did go for a time. Apparently, the German and the British officers sung alternate English – German marching songs accompanied on the piano by the Padre, whilst the ship slowly crossed the Adriatic to Brindisi.
The next day we were taken off. The Germans were left on board. The Italians were asked if they were for Mussolini or Badoglio. If Mussolini, they were left on; if Badoglio, taken off.24
Among the latter was Capitano Cacciatori. Naval Lieutenant Crowder, who had been evacuated with jaundice, was also freed. For the vast majority of the garrison, however, their journey would have an altogether different ending. After capture, officers and men were segregated and held in transit in Greece until they could be transported in railway goods wagons to prison camps in the Reich. According to German statistics, 3,200 British and 5,350 Italians were taken prisoner.25
14
Epilogue
North of Leros is the island of Samos: for the Germans, the last major obstacle in their conquest of the Dodecanese. Resident troops of the Greek Sacred Squadron (Ieros Lohos) only just escaped the fate of the majority of the Royal West Kents when an order to send the force to Leros was countermanded late on 16 November.1 The following morning, the port of Vathi was bombed and strafed by at least fifty German aircraft. An hour later, at 12.30 p.m., Tigani (Pythagorio) was subjected to a heavy raid that lasted two and a half hours. Two days later, the British prepared for a general withdrawal of servicemen and civilians alike. Subsequently, it was reported that 138 British (including four officers and some seventy ORs of the Royal West Kents), 358 soldiers of the Greek Sacred Squadron, 400 Greek guerillas and 2,9
78 Italians had been evacuated from Samos; another eighty-four British were taken off Ikaria.
On Sunday, 21 November, the Germans made an initial attempt to occupy Samos. The landing party included the commanding officer of Jägerregiment 1 “Brandenburg”, Oberstleutnant Uwe Wilhelm Walther:
As the motor torpedo boat approached the island of Samos under my command in the early evening hours, the signaller on board used a large signal lamp to flash in morse: Parlamentario a bordo [Negotiator on board]. General Müller … had ordered me to take the two motor torpedo boats and proceed to Samos as negotiator to request the surrender of the English and Italians there. The coast was before us with its romantic little harbour of Tigani. No one was visible, a situation that we soldiers did not feel at all happy about, as we could be fired upon at any moment. Having received no reply to the repeated messages sent by the signaller, I therefore left one of the boats to provide cover while I tried to approach the island in the other. Just as well, because all of a sudden, we came under fire, albeit without suffering any damage. As it was getting dark and it was proving impossible to land under the circumstances, I was ordered by wireless to return to Leros. We raced back at top speed at sunset and trailing a long, bright wave that lit the sea; quite an impressive picture, which would be difficult to beat even in peacetime.2
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