The Vatican Pimpernel

by Brian Fleming

  The fact that the front lines were now so much nearer Rome created additional problems for the escape organisation. Derry was concerned that some of those in hiding might act prematurely and get themselves recaptured. In the circumstances, with the pressure coming on the Germans, if anyone was recaptured they were almost certainly going to be shot immediately. The instruction was issued to all, via Simpson, that they were to stay in their current locations. Even the prisoners in Regina Coeli were becoming aware of the possibility of liberation. Furman, who was still imprisoned there, had managed to get a note out to Derry via an Italian barber who went into the prison most days. The note outlined how Furman had been captured and advised Derry of the names of all those British prisoners who were in captivity there. However, a second note came from him on 26 January reporting that all the British prisoners, including himself, were to be taken from the jail to an unknown destination. The prospects for Furman were extremely bleak and he acknowledged this in his note. He realised there was a good possibility he was going to his death. He wrote to Sam Derry:

  I have just had notice that all British prisoners are leaving here within the next two or three hours. It is the most damnable luck – to have ‘missed the bus’ by just over two weeks, but who knows, perhaps I shall see you in Rome yet. In any event, if I fail to make it, I know you will see my wife and Diana when you get back. Would you also ask Bill to remember me to all our friends who have been so kind to me. And would you greet our Irish golfing friend for me … I will sign off now with the hope that you have an uneventful voyage back to England and the work you have done here is duly rewarded.1

  On 10 February, the Roman newspapers carried pictures of approximately 300 American prisoners of war being marched through the city by the German authorities. Such treatment of prisoners of war was of course completely contrary to the Geneva Convention but the Germans had been unable to resist what they saw as a very clever propaganda stunt.

  Fr Ambrose Roche, an Irish Augustinian student from Clara in Offaly, was on the street as the prisoners were marched through. One of them asked for a cigarette so Fr Roche threw him the packet. He was immediately arrested by the Italian Fascist police and, although the Germans were willing to let him go, they insisted that he be imprisoned in Regina Coeli. By this stage, many of the Irish priests knew the Kiernan family well. Shortly after they arrived in Rome, the Minister and his wife had established an arrangement whereby the Legation operated an open house for Irish residents in Rome every Thursday afternoon. Fr Tuomey recalls, ‘Tea, coffee, biscuits and sandwiches were served, and there was whiskey, wine, brandy, sherry, whatever you wanted.’2 When he heard about the young student’s arrest, Kiernan began to act.

  I had found it difficult to get into Regina Coeli, to interview the priest, although I was well provided with cigarettes to ease my entry. The policeman on duty, to my complaint, that it was a hard place to get into, dryly remarked that it was harder to get out of.3

  The Irish Minister then used his valuable contacts in the German Embassy to secure the release of Fr Roche. The authorities did not realise that the young Irishman was very actively involved in O’Flaherty’s organisation.

  The prisoners were temporarily held in an old camp on the east of the city. On 12 February, Lucidi and Simpson got an urgent message to meet Monsignor O’Flaherty at his usual location outside St Peter’s Basilica at eleven o’clock. When they met him, he explained that he had been contacted by an Italian family. They had taken in six Americans who had escaped from a detention camp and were now located in a farm house about two miles from the camp. The following day, Lucidi brought three of them to Mrs Chevalier’s apartment followed at a twenty-minute interval by Simpson who brought the other three. By the next day, they had dispersed them through the city in safe accommodation. In the meantime, John Furman in company with Lieutenant J. S. (Johnny) Johnstone had managed to arrive back in Rome. It seems their escape was a carbon copy of Derry’s own as they managed to jump from a train taking them north. Then Furman and Johnstone, with the help of some locals, managed to acquire bicycles and make good their escape cycling all the way down to Rome. In fact they were only a couple of miles from the Swiss border and safety, but they decided to cycle the four hundred or so miles to Rome to help the organisation in its work. Furman recalls their arrival in Rome:

  I felt happy and suddenly relaxed as I watched Johnny’s enchanted eyes taking in the beauty of the square, the colonnade, the obelisk, the fountains, the Swiss Guards and the Basilica itself. Rather self-consciously, we shook hands.4

  Furman, with the help of a friendly priest, managed to send a note up to Monsignor O’Flaherty’s apartment saying he was outside:

  There was a look of incredulity on Monsignor O’Flaherty’s face as he came bounding through the Santa Marta gate in response to the note I had sent up by the hand of a friendly monk. So soon as his eyes lit on me, he let out a roar and charged with cassock flying to where I was standing. Never was there such back slapping and hugging; security went momentarily overboard. Then holding me at arms length, he said in his rich Irish brogue, ‘In the name of God, it is good to see you back, John. You are paler and thinner but you are all in one piece. This is surely a happy day for us all.’5

  The Monsignor brought them down to the house where Frs Claffey and Treacy lived. Early in the afternoon, he returned bringing one of his own suits for Johnny who was about the same size as himself. They were able to go out and subsequently met up with Bill Simpson and Renzo Lucidi. Both moved in to live with the Pestalozzas. Before he left, Furman gave a note to the Monsignor for Sam Derry whom he was anxious to meet up with again: ‘Back in Rome. Where the hell are you? One consolation for my sore arse will be when I see your smiling face.’6 The effect of the long journey on their anatomies was clear in the cryptic comment. Derry was most anxious to link up with Furman. At the same time, he had to be very careful because one false move could have threatened the existence of the entire organisation and left the British Minister and the Vatican authorities in serious difficulties so he had to restrain himself. Furman went back to work with Simpson and almost immediately his alertness saved some lives. One day he received a tip-off that an Italian who had guided four escapees into Rome had been arrested and had begun to talk. This man knew nothing about the organisation, but he did know where the four escapees whom he had escorted to Rome were billeted. Furman managed to move them before the inevitable raid and put them into Mrs Chevalier’s. This established a pattern for the future use of that accommodation as another clearing house available in an emergency.

  From the beginning of her involvement, Mrs Chevalier tended to stay at home running her billet. Her daughters did all the necessary shopping for the household and bringing of messages to and fro. The exception to this was when she was called upon to provide medical assistance to the escapees in the various other billets around Rome. Her partner in this was Milko Scofic, a Yugoslavian who was studying medicine in Rome when the Germans first came into Italy. He was arrested at that time, sent to a slave labour camp in Serbia but this was subsequently overrun by partisans. He managed to make his way back to Rome having secured forged papers which allowed him to rejoin the university. He and the Maltese widow, who had some nursing experience, provided the main medical services to the escapees until later in the War. By that stage, among the group were a Scottish doctor, Captain MacAulay, and a South African dentist, Captain Kane-Berman, who were in a position to lend their knowledge and experience. Scofic subsequently qualified and had a distinguished medical career. His girlfriend (later wife) was a young Italian art student who later became famous as a film star: Gina Lollobrigida was a supporter of the Italian Resistance and indeed had assisted O’Flaherty’s organisation from time to time. After her film career was over, she returned to her first love, sculpture.

  From time to time, however, a case came to the attention of the organisation that they were unable to deal with, due to the lack of proper medical equipment. One of these
was a Cameron Highlander, Private Norman Anderson, who had acute appendicitis. He was hiding on a farm near Subiaco, 40 miles northeast of Rome. Br Pace, who was his link man, made arrangements to have him deposited at a suitable hospital where he would undoubtedly lose his freedom but secure the necessary medical attention. However, Anderson was unwilling. Death was a preferable option, in his view. As so often in these difficult cases, O’Flaherty had a solution. The Irish authorities back in Dublin, had they known what their countryman was doing, would have been horrified. O’Flaherty contacted an old friend of his, Professor Urbani, who was a surgeon in one of the big Roman hospitals, which was now crammed with German patients who were there as a result of the fighting at Anzio. The Professor agreed to carry out the operation on O’Flaherty’s friend. However, the patient had to be brought straight in, operated on and removed from the hospital immediately, to avoid giving rise to any awkward questions. Next, the Monsignor contacted Fr ‘Spike’ Buckley, his fellow countryman who had the same level of commitment and courage as himself. More importantly, Fr Buckley was built along the same lines as the Monsignor and his exceptional strength was going to be necessary in this escapade. Finally, the Monsignor made contact with his friend Delia Murphy. The real difficulty was getting Anderson to and from the hospital. An ambulance was out of the question, taxis were more or less non-existent at this stage and the few private cars available were in the hands of Fascists who could secure the necessary permits. The Ambassador’s wife immediately arranged for Fr Buckley to drive the Legation car. She and Fr Buckley collected Anderson and brought him to the hospital. There he was handed over to the care of two nurses who were in the confidence of the surgeon. Within an hour he was collected again by Fr Buckley and brought in the Legation car, protected by the diplomatic plates, to Mrs Chevalier’s apartment. On the way, they had a narrow escape. When they were stopped at traffic lights, they were approached by the SS. Fr Buckley explained that the man in the back was an Irish priest who was being taken to hospital. The patient looked so bad that this story was convincing enough and they were allowed to drive on. Fr Borg had already alerted Mrs Chevalier to this arrival and Milko Scofic was there to lend medical assistance. Anderson stayed there for approximately one week, during which time his medical condition was grave, until the lame Italian boy turned up once more and warned Mrs Chevalier that a raid would be carried out on her apartment in about two hours. At that stage she was catering for five fit escapees and they managed to disperse through the city. Anderson was in no condition to join them. Again Delia Murphy (Mrs Kiernan) was called upon and the Embassy car was used to move him to the safest location of all, which was the American College, where he was placed under the care of Colin Lesslie who nursed him back to health. In many ways this episode sums up the peculiar nature of the rescue organisation. As Derry sees it:

  Rarely has a man owed his life to such strangely assorted factors as a scholarly Monsignor, with the incisive brain of a business tycoon; a giant priest, with the strength of a lion and the gentleness of a lamb; an Irish lady, whose humanity overwhelmed political propriety; a little Maltese widow, with a gallant heart as big as her own expansive family; and an Italian surgeon who, with his enemies all around him, risked his life to save a life.7

  On another occasion, O’Flaherty did a solo run in relation to a medical emergency. An Austrian who was hiding in the accommodation of the Propaganda College came down with appendicitis. This time the Monsignor borrowed a car from a high Vatican official, and drove to the Propaganda College where he collected the Austrian, and took him to a hospital. Here the nuns who were in league with O’Flaherty put the man into a ward full of German officers and in turn prepared him for an operation which was carried out by a German military surgeon who had not an idea as to the identity of his patient. The nuns cared for the Austrian for a few days and then O’Flaherty took him back to the Propaganda College. All of this was done without any regard to his own safety.

  Contacts in another of the Roman hospitals enabled O’Flaherty to come to the assistance of Tom Carini, who was one of the leaders of the Italian Resistance. Carini was in the Santo Spirito Hospital as a result of a genuine illness and also suffering as a result of torture by Koch. Two armed guards were allocated to ensure that he did not escape from the hospital and they took turns in position beside his bedside. It had been made clear to him that if he made any effort to escape he would be executed. However, his mother had made contact with the nuns and the Mother Superior had decided to assist with the freeing of Carini if at all possible. The nuns had noted that at approximately 2.00 a. m. each night the guard on duty was liable to go to sleep. At about that time one night, Carini was woken by the sensation of his feet being tickled and he was quite surprised to see it was the Mother Superior. She managed to move him from the bed, without disturbing the guard sitting nearby, and relocate him in the nun’s dormitory where he stayed for the rest of the night. From what seems to have been a fairly endless supply, O’Flaherty had left a Monsignor’s clothing with the Mother Superior. Carini donned this and sat with her saying the rosary until the early hours of the morning when O’Flaherty arrived and the two, dressed as Monsignors, walked out of the hospital.

  March 1944 was a very difficult time for the organisation. The winter had been extremely harsh, increasing the numbers of those coming to Rome from the outlying areas seeking assistance. While Derry and his colleagues did their best to resource them and send them back into the outlying areas, the numbers continued to grow. Those coming in outnumbered those being relocated in the country areas. In the previous month, the numbers of escapees being catered for by the organisation within the city had risen from 84 to 116. Finding billets for them was terribly difficult and it kept all the senior members of the organisation stretched.

  One of the trickiest cases they had to deal with was that of Paul Freyberg, a young Lieutenant in the Grenadier Guards, the son of General Freyberg. Paul had been captured near Anzio on the night of 7 February but had managed to make his escape two nights later and went into hiding with some Italian refugees who were sheltering from the Allied bombings. One of these was an elderly Italian who had lived for quite a while in America and so spoke English fluently. Freyberg found it impossible to penetrate German lines to reach his colleagues so this elderly Italian gave him civilian clothes and advised him to make for Castelgandolfo, which was only a few miles from where they were in hiding. He reached his destination some days later. Seeing the proclamation on the wall of the estate that this was papal property, he claimed sanctuary and was admitted. For the German authorities, his recapture would have been a great propaganda coup whereas for their counterparts in the Vatican, his presence on papal property was a potential source of embarrassment, if it became known. So, while some at least in the Vatican may have disapproved of O’Flaherty’s activities, on this occasion they sought his assistance. The difficulty was that the Germans were located in strength between Castelgandolfo and Rome. An official Vatican truck made routine calls to the papal villa with supplies for staff and usually was allowed through unhindered because the personnel at the German checkpoint were very familiar with the routine. O’Flaherty organised for Freyberg to be taken the eighteen miles to Rome in the boot of the truck on its return journey and was brought safely into the Vatican.

  When the time came to leave I found that a small cavity had been made in the centre of the vehicle which was otherwise piled high with sacks of potatoes and crates of garden produce, and this niche was further hidden by being lined with thick sacking. There was a heartstopping moment when we reached the German road block on the outskirts of Rome and the doors at the back of the vehicle were thrown open but the search was perfunctory, and soon we were on our way again.8

  As it happened, Freyberg was about to celebrate his twenty-first birthday and so a little party was arranged, to be held in the British Legation. A surprise visitor, much to Derry’s delight, was John Furman whom he had not met since his escape from captivity. Fur
man had called into the German College and there had met Princess Nini, the first of O’Flaherty’s unofficial guests, and the person who spent her time arranging for false papers.

  Nini told me she was going, with a party of people from the German college, to the little chapel which housed the British Legation. My ears pricked up at once and I asked whether I might join the party. She agreed, saying that as there would be seven or eight going, most of whom would be known to the guards on the building, it was unlikely that they would be stopped.9

  Some time later another voice from the past made contact. Renzo Lucidi answered his phone and was surprised to hear the voice of Joe Pollak. Pollak said he was at the Via Chelini flat. This was a bit of a shock because the flat and the one at Via Firenze had been abandoned and there was a belief within the organisation that the person who had rented the flat on behalf of Monsignor O’Flaherty, a Dr Cipolla, was actually a double agent working for the Germans. In fact, Pollak had achieved a miraculous escape. He was taken to Sulmona, as the group had learned, and there was charged with being a traitor and a spy. However, he managed to recognise a German officer who was in a position to testify that he was in fact a prisoner of war and so his sentence was reduced to that of imprisonment in the camp. Pollak was to be moved to Germany. At the very moment they were being loaded onto a train to go to Germany, the RAF bombed the station at Aquila and in the confusion he was able to escape. Using his excellent Italian, he managed to secure a lift in a lorry heading for Rome. They were stopped at a checkpoint but Pollak managed to slip over the side of the lorry as it halted and he crawled underneath. The driver and Pollak’s companion were arrested and the lorry was taken to the nearest German barracks with Pollak clinging to the underside. Just as it reached the barracks it had to slow down at a sharp turn, where he dropped off unnoticed and walked into Rome. As he was not up to date with recent developments, it was an obvious move for him to go to the Via Chelini flat. As it happens, his appearance was a fortunate development for Dr Cipolla because the doctor was looking for a means to get back on good terms with the escape organisation. The arrival of Joe Pollak afforded him the opportunity to do just that. He was treated with suspicion thereafter but did not betray any member of the organisation.