Deep beneath the castle Dan Ranfurly and Neame laboured on the final half-foot of imprisoning earth and stones.
‘Right sir, I’m in position,’ murmured Ranfurly, his long frame reaching up the exit shaft. Below him crouched General Neame. He glanced at his watch. It was a few minutes after 8.00pm.
‘Okay, Dan,’ whispered Neame, ‘proceed.’
Ranfurly needed no further urging. Balancing himself against the wooden sides of the exit shaft he reached up and pulled aside the boards at the top, exposing the dark, damp earth above. Then he began to dig with the trusty old kitchen knife, soil and stones cascading down over his outstretched arms and his face as he excavated. For ten minutes Ranfurly worked like a man possessed, hacking and gouging at the earth while Neame backed into the tunnel away from the torrent of mud that fell from above. Then all was quiet.
‘Sir,’ whispered Ranfurly, almost silently. Neame gingerly moved into the bottom of the shaft and looked up. Ranfurly’s mud-blackened face was almost invisible in the darkness, except for his white teeth. He was grinning. Ranfurly pointed upwards with the tip of his knife. Neame allowed his eyes to adjust. Clouds scudded past the fresh hole that Ranfurly had cut at the top of the shaft.18 Cold rain fell on to Neame’s upturned face, cleansing and refreshing after the filth and heat of the gloomy tunnel. Grinning widely himself now, he gave Ranfurly a thumbs-up before disappearing back down the tunnel towards the chapel with the good news.
*
‘Officer coming!’ hissed one of the watchers into the crowded dining room. Everyone froze for a second. Then they began to scatter. The alert had come from Brigadier ‘Rudolph’ Vaughan’s room, one of the main lookout points. The six escapers snatched up their cases and rucksacks and dashed for their rooms. They had to conceal their luggage and escape outfits before the officer arrived. To add to the confusion, General Neame had sent word from the chapel for the escapers to assemble in the tunnel.19
But a few minutes later everyone was called back to the dining room, hearts still in mouths. It had been a false alarm. A watcher had seen an Italian NCO making his rounds on the battlements and mistook the situation. The order arrived telling the escapers to make their way to the chapel.20 The strain was beginning to tell. Fortunately, ‘Rudolph’s’ namesake Captain Ernest Vaughan, the castle’s doughty new medical officer, took charge and gathered the escapers together and started directing them into the chapel.21
*
When the escapers entered the darkened chapel they discovered Lord Ranfurly sitting at the top of the shaft. He refused to shake hands with any of them owing to his filthy state. The escapers had taken extra precautions with their outfits to protect them from the rigours of crawling through a muddy tunnel and the rainy night that they could expect at the other end. Each man wore an outsized pair of pyjamas over his clothes and a large handkerchief tied over his homemade flat cap. The men’s shoes were covered with old socks, with the legs of their pyjamas tucked firmly in.22
The escapers clambered down into the tunnel, Ranfurly helping each with his bag. Moving quickly down the tunnel to the exit shaft they were met by General Neame at the bottom, his face lit by a very low light.
‘Right, you know the drill,’ whispered Neame. ‘The watchers report that all of the sentries are in their boxes. It’s raining quite steadily.’
Brigadier Combe would be the first to go. He carried his leather suitcase, a length of rope and a blanket. His job was to spread the blanket outside the exit to prevent the escapers’ shoes chewing up the wet grass and leaving an obvious mark that would attract the attention of any sentry who peered over the battlements during daylight. He was then to ‘secure the rope round a post on the top of a stone wall just down the hillside from the battlements’. This, wrote Hargest, ‘was our last obstacle, five feet high on the uphill side and about ten feet on the downhill or road side. The rope was to steady us; we could hang on to it while descending.’23
Neame glanced at his watch, then along the tunnel where seven darkened and tense-looking faces, including that of Ranfurly at the far end, stared back at him. He looked at his watch again. It was time. ‘Right John,’ he said to Combe, ‘Good luck and see you after the war.’ Combe, awkwardly encumbered by the suitcase, coiled rope and blanket, muttered his response, briefly shook Neame’s hand and then began to climb up the exit shaft. Behind him, the remaining six shuffled forward, Neame raising one hand to steady them while staring up the shaft as Combe struggled to the top.
At 9.00pm Brigadier John Combe’s head appeared beneath the castle’s massive curtain wall. Rain lashed at his face – a clean, crisp and beautifully cold rain. The air that accompanied the rain was fresh and invigorating after the stale tunnel. A wave of fierce exhilaration swept over Combe as he struggled out of the hole and set to work. He was alive … and he was free.
CHAPTER 14
___________________
The Pilgrim Band
‘We were free … and freedom is a precious thing and worth the highest price a man can pay, and that moment I tasted it in full.’
Major-General Adrian Carton de Wiart
The next man out of the tunnel was Brigadier Miles, who in addition to carrying his personal kit was also hauling out Lord Ranfurly’s carefully camouflaged three-ply exit hole cover. Once he’d deposited the cover by the exit Miles was to help Brigadier Combe down at the five-foot-high castle road wall. As soon as he emerged, Miles quickly dropped the heavy board and scurried down the slope towards where Combe crouched in the lee of the wall. Air Vice-Marshal Boyd was next out – he only carried his suitcase. His task once clear of the exit was to go to the road and keep watch. There was always the fear that the Italians might have a ground sentry outside the curtain wall during the hours of darkness. Brigadier Jim Hargest was number four. He carried his suitcase, a long rope with an iron hook on one end, and a sandbag full of pine needles and soil. When General Neame gave him the signal to start climbing up the exit shaft Hargest pushed his case ahead of him, while grasping the heavy sandbag in his other hand. The tunnel was wet and slippery, and it was difficult work making the top.1
Hargest was shocked by how light it was when he clambered awkwardly out of the exit shaft. Unbeknown to the prisoners, the Italians had placed some lights under the wall and they were reasonably bright.2 Hargest glanced up nervously at the top of the high castle wall. He couldn’t see anyone, but if a guard did glance over the edge the escapers would be easily seen. However, it was still raining hard and the sentries had decided to remain dry inside their little wooden guard boxes atop the battlements. Hargest placed his suitcase and the sandbag on the blanket. Then he took off the coil of rope that he was wearing across his torso and passed it back down the hole, hook first. After a few seconds the rope went taut, and a single strong tug was the signal for Hargest to haul. Up came General De Wiart’s heavy pack, which Hargest unhooked and placed with the other equipment on the blanket. Then he fed the rope back down into the hole. This time he hauled up General O’Connor’s rucksack. Hargest paused, expecting De Wiart to appear, and preparing to give him a helping hand if needed, but instead he heard a voice whisper fiercely, ‘The rope!’
Inside the shaft General De Wiart had begun his ascent when he stopped and leaned back down, whispering something to Neame at the bottom. Neame didn’t hear what he said and, assuming that the tall one-armed man was stuck, started pushing on his legs.3 But De Wiart resisted and leaned back down again. ‘I’ve forgotten Connor’s bloody gamp!’4 hissed De Wiart roughly. Neame turned to look at O’Connor, who quickly thrust a rolled black umbrella into his hands. ‘Well, it is raining,’ said O’Connor defensively. Neame raised one eyebrow before quickly passing the umbrella up to the impatient De Wiart.
Up top Hargest complied with the third request for the rope and dangled it back down the hole. Another tug and he hauled to the surface a walking stick and O’Connor’s black umbrella. Next came De Wiart, muttering something under his breath about a ‘bloody gamp’ as he wa
s helped from the tunnel. The tall figure picked up his pack and stick and was soon away. Lastly emerged O’Connor, who was horribly surprised by the lights. ‘It’s like Piccadilly in peacetime,’5 he whispered to Hargest before he was also away towards the darkness of the road wall. Hargest scooped up the sodden blanket and tossed it into the hole. Then he fitted Ranfurly’s heavy cover over the exit and emptied the contents of his sandbag over it, pausing for a few seconds to carefully spread the material and camouflage the hole as best he could. Satisfied with his work, Hargest snatched up his suitcase, the empty sandbag and the rope and headed off after the others.6
*
Inside the tunnel everything went dead quiet once Hargest had fastened the cover over the hole. General Neame sat for a few seconds at the bottom of the exit shaft.
‘And that’s that,’ he said reflectively, before making his way back towards the chapel. He still had plenty of work to do.
‘Everything okay, sir?’ asked Ranfurly, caked in mud and still dressed only in his underwear.
‘Yes, the chicks have flown the nest,’ replied Neame. ‘Come on, you’d better get cleaned up and help the others with the dummies.’
It was essential to protect the secret of the tunnel at all costs. Plans were afoot to send a further six officers through it over the coming days, so the Italians had to be fooled into thinking that the first six had escaped over the castle’s outer wall. To this end Neame had planned a diversion. The long rope that Hargest had used to haul rucksacks and equipment to the surface would be dropped somewhere where it would be easily found in the morning. Hopefully, the Italians would fall for this ruse and not suspect a tunnel.7 In the meantime, the dummies had to be moved up to the bedrooms and made ready for the night-time inspection.
*
At the low wall outside the castle that led to the road the escapers had a huge stroke of luck. Set into the wall was a great iron gate that stood twelve feet tall. Everyone had assumed that this portal would be securely locked, necessitating clambering over the wall itself to reach the road. But when Boyd tried the gate, it opened. Quickly everyone filed through and then Boyd tried to close it. But the gate was stiff and, perhaps at that moment forgetting where he was, Boyd slammed the gate with some force. Everyone ducked when the iron gate closed behind them with a loud boom.8 Boyd looked at them sheepishly in the rainy darkness and mouthed a silent ‘sorry’. Then all eyes turned to the battlements. It seemed inconceivable that a sentry hadn’t heard the almighty crash. No movement was discerned, the distance, wind and rain snatching away the hard noise before it reached the lofty sentry posts.
‘Come on, let’s get moving,’ said O’Connor, and the six fugitives headed off downhill into the dripping woods below the castle where they were grateful to be swallowed up by shadows. Before they departed, the rope was poorly hidden. After a while they stepped over a wire fence into an olive grove and then clambered awkwardly over bramble-covered terraces as they headed deeper into the valley. O’Connor called another halt, and the escapers quickly divested themselves of their soaked and filthy overclothes used to protect their civilian outfits, stashing them in the undergrowth along with Hargest’s empty sandbag.9 After another 600 yards the path branched into two routes; this was where O’Connor and De Wiart were to part company with the other two teams.
By now, the rain had eased off. The six men stood in their groups for a few minutes, O’Connor and De Wiart conspicuous by their very different outfits and large rucksacks. They were dressed for the countryside rather than as smarter workmen or travelling salesmen as favoured by the other four. De Wiart wore an old pair of corduroy trousers given to him by General Gambier-Parry, a civilian collarless shirt and an old pullover, with his raincoat over the top and a rag loosely knotted around his neck as a rudimentary scarf. On his feet he wore brown leather mountain boots that he had purchased at Sulmona before the move to Vincigliata.10 O’Connor was similarly disguised, both men also wearing homemade workmen’s caps. They were posing as Austrian tourists on a hiking holiday, which would account for their strange accents when speaking Italian and O’Connor’s fair hair. But their identity documents carried Italian names and listed Bologna as their place of domicile, to enable them to pass themselves off as local peasants should the need arise. They would swap between the two identities as the situation required.
‘We shook hands silently,’ recalled De Wiart of the parting, ‘and let the darkness swallow us up.’11 With O’Connor beside him, De Wiart set off in a northeasterly direction towards the Apennines. Their target was to cross the grand Bologna–Milan trunk road between Modena and Reggio.12
For the other two teams, the target was Florence station. When they parted from O’Connor and De Wiart, the remaining four fugitives were six miles from their target. Moving fast through the night, they crossed a bridge above a mill and hit the tarred road to the city. Stopping briefly, they determined to make themselves more presentable. They stripped off the old socks that had protected their shoes and shins during the escape and threw them into the fast-flowing, rain-swollen mill stream, then crouched on the bank and washed their suitcases clean of mud from the tunnel.13 It was now about 10.00pm.
*
Back at the castle, at 10.00pm General Neame ordered the dummies placed in the escaped officers’ beds.14 The orderlies fussed over their placement, and the hanging of the mosquito nets, until Neame conducted an inspection and declared everything to be ready. The real test would come at 1.30am when the Italians made their customary inspection.
*
Miles and Boyd set a cracking pace down the road towards Florence. In fact, it was too fast. Hargest caught up with them.
‘Look here, we should slow down a bit,’ said Hargest to Miles and Boyd. Everyone was wearing a lot of thick clothing and overcoats, brought along in case they encountered snow in the Alps during their crossing into Switzerland, and their faces were running with sweat. ‘Our train doesn’t leave until 0035 hours and we’ve only half-a-dozen miles to cover.’15
Boyd protested, worried that they might need extra time if they lost their way on the route into Florence. But Hargest was adamant and they slowed down accordingly. He didn’t think that it was wise to arrive too early and in an exhausted state – they might attract unwanted attention.
On they marched. As they entered Florence’s blacked-out suburbs they started seeing people, some finding their way in the dark with torches while others rode bicycles with shielded lamps. The escapers were pleased to note that no one took the slightest interest in them. Soon they were deep into Florence, passing through mostly quiet streets towards the railway station. Before very long they arrived at their destination. Hargest glanced at his wristwatch.
‘Twenty-three thirty-five hours,’ he murmured to the others as they stood in the shadows of an apartment building across from the huge station hall. The Milan train would depart in one hour’s time, at 12.35am.
‘Well, we can’t hang around here,’ said Boyd. ‘We’d look less conspicuous waiting inside the station itself.’ The others agreed, and they picked up their suitcases and strode nonchalantly across the piazza and through the great iron and glass doors into the station.
Florence railway station was a hive of activity, with civilians, soldiers and police milling around its huge ticket hall. Occasional announcements blared out over tinny speakers and all around them were passengers’ conversations and the sounds of trains shunting, whistles blowing and steam escaping from engines. The hall was brightly lit and even in the middle of the night it was crowded with people. The fugitives glanced towards the far end of the vast, echoing hall where the ticket office was located. Several railway officials and Carabinieri stood around chatting or watching the crowds.
‘Let’s split up for a while,’ suggested Miles, and the four escapers moved away from each other to wait singly. Hargest decided to test his disguise. He sauntered over to a group of Italian soldiers who were waiting next to a pile of kitbags. Hargest was pleased to note t
hat they didn’t look at him twice. Using discreet signals, the four fugitives drifted back outside to compare notes.16
‘Right, who’s going to buy the tickets?’ murmured Boyd. No one replied.
‘Very well, I’ll do it,’ said Boyd irritably, breaking the embarrassed silence.
‘Only three third class, remember,’ piped up John Combe as Boyd prepared to go back into the station. ‘I’m going second class.’ Combe was posing as a travelling salesman and was dressed well in comparison to his companions. He would travel in a different carriage to Milan, but he’d have to purchase his own ticket.
*
Back inside the noisy and overcrowded station Boyd made his way towards the ticket office. There was a queue, which he joined. In his mind he went over his line several times, confident that his Italian would suffice. Then came his turn. Boyd presented himself before one of the little grill windows.
‘Tre biglietti di terza classe ritorno a Milano,’ said Boyd confidently. The clerk understood, but then launched into a loud and long diatribe in staccato Italian, Boyd only managing to pick out the word ‘Bologna’ with any clarity. The clerk stopped speaking and stared at Boyd as if waiting for a reply, but Boyd’s mind had gone blank. He hadn’t understood what the clerk had said, or even whether he had asked him a question. He might simply have been giving him some important instruction. Boyd glanced to his right. A Carabiniere had turned and was staring at him, both thumbs hooked into his gun belt. Boyd could hear the queue of people behind him muttering impatiently. His stomach turned over with nerves. He licked his lips and uttered a low ‘scusami’, before he walked away from the window without any tickets. He could feel the Carabiniere’s eyes boring into his back as he walked towards the exit.
Castle of the Eagles Page 21