‘Stay here,’ muttered Combe under his breath. ‘I’ll check the timetable.’ Before Boyd could reply, Combe picked up his case and marched off in the direction of the information boards. He hoped to lure the watcher away from Boyd and their friends who would surely be arriving in a few minutes.5 Hardly daring to look around, Combe stood before the busy boards and pretended to read the train lists, his heart pumping wildly. He had almost calmed himself down when a hand gripped his right shoulder and an Italian voice said: ‘Excuse me, sir, but can you come with me?’6
*
Owen Boyd stood in the busy station hall for several minutes, wondering where on earth Combe had got to. There was no sign of Hargest or Miles either. He turned around slowly and scanned the hall, searching for Combe. As he looked over towards the information boards he suddenly saw Combe’s tall figure. He was talking to a shorter man in a fedora hat who was showing him something in his hand. Then Combe began to walk away with the man, his new companion holding Combe’s upper arm as if to guide him.
‘Good Lord!’ exclaimed Boyd, forgetting for a moment his composure. Then it dawned on him. Quickly picking up his suitcase, he walked in the opposite direction and disappeared into the densest part of the crowd of milling passengers.
*
When John Combe had turned around and seen the same man that had been following him since the main station, his stomach had performed a nervous flip. His questioner had not smiled, but had produced an identity card from an inside pocket of his cheap dark suit. The word ‘Polizia’ was emblazoned prominently on its front. As the man reached inside his jacket it bulged slightly and Combe caught sight of a shoulder holster and automatic pistol.
‘Please accompany me, sir,’ said the policeman in Italian. Combe was led away to an office in the station.7 As he went he looked but he couldn’t see Boyd or the others. For that he was thankful. Hopefully Boyd would manage to make himself scarce and warn the others.
*
A few minutes after Combe had been arrested, Jim Hargest and Reg Miles stepped off a tram outside the North Station and walked inside. After looking around for a short time, they couldn’t see Combe or Boyd and assumed that they had already gone through to the platform. Owen Boyd, after seeing Combe taken, had decided to do just that and had hastily bought a ticket to Como and passed through the gate.
Miles went off to purchase tickets for himself and Hargest, noting that the next train to Como would depart at 10.30am. This was 90 minutes earlier than the next train from Milan’s main station, meaning that the escapers should be nearing the Swiss frontier when the alarm was sounded back at Vincigliata Castle. They might still make it across before the Italians managed to activate enough troops and police to start hunting for them.
Jim Hargest went into the station buffet and ordered two coffees and newspapers. Then he sat down at a window table to look out for Miles’s return and watch the platform, hoping still to see Combe and Boyd.8
Miles soon returned with the tickets but no news of the others. The two New Zealanders sipped their coffees and read their Italian newspapers, peeking occasionally at a large clock on the wall of the buffet. No one seemed to take any notice of them; the café was noisy with customers and filled with cigarette smoke.
Just before 10.30am Hargest stood up, carefully folding his paper and tucking it under his arm before picking up his suitcase. Miles followed suit and the two men calmly walked over to the platform gate, presenting their tickets for inspection.
For once, the train was on time: a small engine and half-a-dozen shopworn carriages. The train was only half-full, which was a distinct relief after the overcrowded Florence service, and the two brigadiers found a compartment and settled in, getting out their sandwiches from the castle. Then, precisely on time, the little train gave a lurch and slowly began to pull out of the station. Hargest glanced at his watch once again and grimaced. They were cutting it fine, very fine indeed. And what on earth had become of Boyd and Combe?
*
At that precise moment, the plain-clothes policeman in an office at Milan’s North Station was expertly searching Brigadier John Combe. Combe stood with his arms raised while the policeman went through his pockets, emptying their contents on to a scuffed wooden desk: some coins and a small roll of banknotes, some of Gambier-Parry’s maps and the painstakingly forged identity card. The policeman examined the identity card with great interest, comparing the photograph carefully with the tall man standing before him, and asking Combe various questions about his identity, which Combe managed to answer. The policeman picked up the homemade maps, turning them over in his hands.9 It was clear from the policeman’s line of questioning that he suspected Combe was not who he purported to be. Combe’s Italian stretched only so far. Shortly after arriving in the office, the policemen picked up the receiver of a black telephone on the desk and began an animated conversation. A few minutes later two uniformed police officers arrived. Combe was told that he was to be taken to a police station for further questioning, and one of the policemen produced a pair of steel handcuffs and locked Combe’s wrists tightly together in front of him. The other policeman picked up the material on the desk and Combe’s suitcase while the plain-clothesman led the way outside. As Combe was frogmarched across the station hall people turned and stared. Outside, he was bundled into the back of a black Fiat and driven off at speed.
*
Unbeknown to Hargest and Miles, Owen Boyd was still at liberty. Somehow he had missed seeing his friends on the long and busy platform, but he had slipped aboard the last carriage and settled himself into a quiet compartment. As far as he knew, he was the only one of the quartet to still be at liberty, but he remained absolutely determined to reach the frontier, come what may. He still had his maps, his compass and some money; he was moving and thus far had not attracted any untoward interest from the authorities. He felt that he had an excellent chance of making it, though, like Hargest and Miles, he too glanced periodically at his wristwatch and noted how little time remained until the morning roll call at the castle. The little train was annoyingly slow and the horrible feeling of being late for the party stalked Boyd’s mind like a wraith.
*
John Combe’s only thought was to buy time for Boyd, Hargest and Miles. He thought that he could do so by giving evasive answers to questions and trying to confuse and confound the police. Every minute that Combe’s real identity failed to be discovered meant that the others edged that little bit closer to freedom.10 But the Italians were not giving Combe an easy ride.
At the police station Combe was taken to an interview room where he was searched again, this time much more thoroughly. But it was not thorough enough, for the Italians never found Combe’s Bakelite compass, which was sewn into a secret pocket in the back of his coat, nor did they find his equally well-hidden best maps.11
‘So, you will tell us why you have a forged identity card,’ said an interrogator in Italian, holding Gambier-Parry’s artwork up in front of Combe’s face. Combe shrugged his shoulders like a local and spread his palms. He claimed to be the man in the photograph, just a travelling salesman from the Italian Tyrol.
‘You are lying!’ yelled the interrogator, a surly-looking police captain of early middle age. He slammed his palm down on his desk, making Combe jump. On the wall above the policeman’s head a portrait of Mussolini stared down with undisguised belligerence. The interrogator’s brown eyes narrowed. ‘Why were you at the North Station?’ he demanded in a more reasonable tone. Combe, who understood most of what he was being asked after months of Italian study at the castle, mumbled an evasive answer about ‘work’. The interrogator slammed his fist down again on the table. ‘Lies!’ he shouted. ‘You will tell me the truth! Why do you have maps of northern Italy? You are a spy, no?’
‘I am a travelling salesman,’ replied Combe.
‘Your accent is very strange,’ said the interrogator. ‘I think that you are a foreign spy.’ Combe glanced to the left, where a clock was fastened
to the wall. It read 10.55am. ‘I told you, I’m from the Tyrol,’ replied Combe calmly. He knew that if he could keep up this act for even a few more hours, Boyd and the others might yet make it. Even if they were discovered missing from the castle in a few minutes’ time, it would take time for the wheels of Italian bureaucracy to start to turn.
The interrogator sighed deeply and folded his arms.
‘We shoot spies in Italy,’ he said casually.12
*
At Vincigliata Castle, General Neame and the remaining officers waited nervously in their dining room for the 11.00am check. The dummies had all been removed from the beds and hidden in the chapel. They had five minutes until the duty officer would appear through one of the gates in the white wall. Neame was racking his brains trying to think of some way that he could keep up the pretence of a full house with six warm bodies missing. Word from one of the watchers arrived that the Italian officer had been spotted.
‘It’s the new boy,’ said Brigadier Todhunter, glancing out of the window at the approaching officer. The very young Second Lieutenant Solera, really still a teenager and new to the castle and the ways of its prisoners, was strutting across the courtyard.
‘I say, Ted,’ said Neame to Todhunter. ‘Let’s make him welcome. We’ll invite him in to elevenses. Have the other chaps walk in and out of the dining room to give the impression of a full house.’ Neame dashed towards the door to head off Solera with an invitation to join him for a cup of Bovril while Todhunter quickly outlined the plan to the others. They all prayed that Neame could keep Solera busy in conversation so that he didn’t pay as much attention to the business of actually counting the prisoners.13
The mantle clock began to strike. Todhunter glanced in its direction. ‘Eleven hundred hours,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Right chaps,’ he said, looking at Brigadier Stirling and General Gambier-Parry, ‘better pray to God that this works.’
*
Young Second Lieutenant Solera didn’t stand a chance. Within seconds of entering the prisoners’ dining room he was buttonholed by General Neame and Brigadier Todhunter and had a steaming cup of Bovril thrust into his hands. An affable young man who was surprised and flattered by the attention of a gaggle of aged military heroes, Solera failed to spot that he was being deceived. While he chatted away with Neame and Todhunter, discussing the many problems with the castle, the other senior officers milled around the dining room, constantly popping out, changing their clothing slightly, then reappearing again. The effect was of a full house, and Solera fell for the ruse hook, line and sinker.14 He failed to do his job correctly, something he would later be taken to task over by Captain Pederneschi, but he was really no more than a callow youth. Departing fifteen minutes later, he reported that all British officers were present and correct.
Neame couldn’t believe his luck. Unless some misfortune befell them, the missing officers should remain undetected by the Italians until evening.
*
Aboard the Milan to Como train Brigadiers Hargest and Miles sat in a compartment staring at the passing countryside. The sun was shining, which after the wet and stormy conditions of the past two days seemed to be a sign of good times to come. Hargest and Miles were both exhausted and eternally grateful to be finally sitting down and able to rest. Hargest’s hip had been causing him some discomfort for hours. Both men slowly started to regain their strength. But a worry remained hanging over them like the Sword of Damocles – ready to end their pleasant sojourn and cast them back into prison. They had no idea if a reception committee awaited them at Como station.15 It was past 11.00am, so they had to assume that their absence had been reported by now at the castle. How long it took the Italians to alert railway stations was anyone’s guess, but Hargest and Miles knew that it wouldn’t take long for orders and descriptions to be sent by telephone and teleprinter from Carabinieri headquarters in Florence. The train was due to arrive at Como in about half an hour. There was no possibility of jumping from the train before it reached its destination – Hargest certainly couldn’t contemplate such a drastic measure with his hip. There was also the nagging worry of what had become of Air Vice-Marshal Boyd and Brigadier Combe. If they had fallen into Italian hands, perhaps they had already been identified and an alert sounded? Hargest watched as Reg Miles slowly peeled a hard-boiled egg brought with him from the castle. Hargest found that his appetite had left him.
Five carriages back Owen Boyd felt much the same as Hargest and Miles. As far as he was concerned, he was the only one of the four who had successfully escaped from Milan. He’d definitely seen John Combe get picked up, and Hargest and Miles had never arrived. And like the two New Zealanders he kept glancing nervously at his wristwatch – the talismanic time of 11.00am had been surpassed, meaning he was now a hunted man. He had to be. He couldn’t conceive of how six officers could remain unaccounted for following the morning check at the castle. Boyd stared out of the window, noting how the little train was ascending into the mountains. The scenery was stunning, but it was hard to concentrate. He closed his eyes and tried to doze, but even though utterly exhausted he found that he was too pent-up to switch off. A nagging knot of tension deep in the pit of his stomach refused to leave him, and Boyd knew that he was still in immense danger. Like the others, he kept glancing at his watch. It was all a question of time and Boyd was starting to think that he didn’t have quite enough.
CHAPTER 16
___________________
Boy Scouting
‘I was threatened several times with shooting.’
Brigadier John Combe
Back in Milan, Brigadier John Combe’s interrogation continued at police headquarters. He was roughly searched again, with many of his clothes taken off him, but by a miracle the police still failed to locate both his compass and his best maps.1
The tone of the questioning was becoming more hostile and violent, with some pushing and shoving interspersed with the threats. On several occasions Combe was actually threatened with execution if he failed to reveal all. Though rattled by the experience, Combe had resolved to hold out as long as he could to give his friends a chance before revealing his rank and prisoner of war status. He felt that the Italians were bluffing – though there was a small part of him that was beginning to doubt this assessment. The police knew something was wrong, but they had yet to establish he was an escaped POW, probably owing to his age. Of course, Combe expected the hammer to fall any time after the 11.00am check at the castle. But miraculously, so far his connection with Vincigliata had not been established. For now, Combe remained evasive, his basic Italian and taciturn demeanour confounding his inquisitors.2
*
‘Heads up, Reg,’ murmured Jim Hargest, tapping Miles’s boot with his own. Miles had nodded off, but came to with a start. ‘Como,’ said Hargest, nodding towards the window. The train had slowed to a crawl and was trundling the last few hundred yards along the line into the pretty town that bordered the stunning Alpine lake of the same name. Both men leaned forward in the bright sunshine that streamed through the window and tried to see the approaching platform. It was a make-or-break moment.
‘We’ll soon know,’ whispered Miles. Then the train pulled alongside the platform, coming slowly to a halt. The New Zealanders studied the platform intently – it was almost empty. Hargest had been expecting police officers and soldiers waiting to arrest them, but there was no one. Either the alert order had been slow to leave the castle, or by some miraculous means the six officers had not yet been missed. The two brigadiers looked at each other in amazement, a feeling of relief washing over them.
Hargest and Miles stood, taking down their luggage from the overhead racks, and shuffled out into the corridor. Miles headed for an exit towards the front, while Hargest opened a carriage door at the rear. It was an elementary precaution to avoid both men being immediately picked up, should their worst fears be realised and the authorities be lying in wait for them. Gingerly, both men opened their carriage doors and stepped dow
n on to the platform, mingling with the other disembarking passengers. Miles and Hargest stared down the length of the platform. No police or soldiers could be seen. Hargest glanced at his watch – it read 11.55am. ‘Almost an hour since the morning roll call at the castle,’ he thought. He strolled over to Miles, who was lighting a cigarette.
‘I’ll walk up to the gate and watch for the others leaving,’ he said under his breath. ‘You walk the length of the train and see if they get off.’ Miles nodded, picked up his case and started to walk back down the platform beside the stopped train, glancing into compartments and watching people alighting. Hargest moved over to the exit gate and stood waiting, in case Boyd and Combe showed up.3
*
As the train had coasted into Como station, Owen Boyd had stood up, pulled on his flat cap and picked up his suitcase. He too was worried about a nasty reception committee waiting for him so he decided to take the precaution of getting off the carriage from the side opposite to the main platform. The train had actually run into a siding with platforms on either side.4 He didn’t realise that on the other side of the train Reg Miles was at that moment looking for him.
*
Hargest and Miles could only linger for a few minutes – any longer and they might begin to look suspicious. There was also the genuine fear that the alarm might yet go out from the castle, and the last place they needed to be when the searches began was a public train station. Miles walked over to Hargest and together they surrendered their tickets and passed out of the station without incident. What had happened to Boyd and Combe was anyone’s guess, though they evidently had not caught the Milan to Como train. Perhaps they would come up on the next one; perhaps they had been caught … Such concerns had to be pushed out of the minds of the two New Zealand brigadiers. The important thing now was their self-preservation and successful escape.
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