The Lost Band of Brothers

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The Lost Band of Brothers Page 12

by Tom Keene


  It is extremely likely, however, that Gubbins, during those meetings with March-Phillipps on 12 and 14 July, briefed him, not only on the possibilities of using Maid Honor to search out possible U-boat supply bases along the coast, but also about the two tempting targets – the Duchessa d’Aosta and the Likomba – in neutral Fernando Po that he and the saboteurs aboard Maid Honor might one day, Admiralty permitting, be sanctioned to attack. It is also extremely likely that something else was drummed into the impatient, impulsive army subaltern seconded to SOE and now Captain of a commandeered Brixham trawler about to sail to Africa: that this was a Top Secret, disavowed mission. He and his men were on their own. If discovered, they would be disowned. There could be no back up, no admission of ownership, no rescue mission. They would travel, work and fight in civilian clothes. From their masthead they would fly the flag of Sweden. If captured, they could expect to be executed as spies.

  Now, perhaps, despite expectations, Maid Honor had arrived safely in Freetown. What she needed was a reason for being there: a mission. London cabled Lagos on 25 September: ‘News of safe arrival Maid Honor causes us to occupy our minds with problem her suitable employment.’ The same signal went on to suggest investigating possible German radio stations or submarine bases that might – or might not – be within Maid Honor’s striking range. London concluded: ‘We invite your suggestions with a view examination and authorisation this end and preparation all information regarding targets you may have in mind.’19

  Lagos had already put up the first considered plan for an attack on the vessels at Fernando Po at the end of August. ‘W’ had also proposed another attack on axis shipping elsewhere: two German ships, the Wamaru and the Wagogo lying in Lobito in Portuguese Angola, another neutral colony further south. All that he – and Maid Honor – needed now was official sanction from the Admiralty and the Foreign Office, but in that regard there was nothing but a lengthening silence. Maid Honor was left to swing around her anchor for three long weeks as London stalled. Her crew spent their days swimming, spear-fishing, sun-bathing, replenishing their ship’s supplies from a parsimonious Naval Stores and keeping fit: ‘I get a half-mile swim and a half-mile run every day before breakfast. Also, I am again very brown and thoroughly acclimatised to the sun and immune to sunburn. We wear nothing all day (aboard and ashore) but bathing trunks and sand shoes.’ It was an idyllic, welcome interlude – just so long as it did not go on too long. Writing home Appleyard admitted: ‘Really this camp is for us a sort of holiday and rest camp.’20

  On 29 September ‘W’ signalled SOE Headquarters in London. He poured cold water on their target suggestions and then returned to the proposed Fernando Po mission: ‘This scheme is being endangered by delay and will require several weeks after approval by you for preparation … If not approved and as long as prohibited bangs against Vichy ship maintained utility of vessel nil.’21

  On 30 September ‘Caesar’ signalled bad news from London. The Fernando Po plan was NOT approved. A follow-up signal the next day confirmed that the Admiralty, when pressed, had expressed ‘complete indifference’22 at the prospect of an attack on the Duchessa d’Aosta. Given the climate of enthusiasm for the entire Fernando Po proposal, the seizure of the Likomba – the Admiralty was ‘ignorant existence [sic] this tug’ – had not even been mentioned. Despite support from the Ministry of Economic Warfare, SOE’s parent body who were ‘interested’23 in the immobilisation of the Italian liner, there was thus no prospect of action on the immediate horizon for the sun-tanned, battle-fit men impatiently awaiting orders in Freetown. Sweltering in the heat, Appleyard’s thoughts turned to England and home:

  I suppose autumn is well on at home now and the trees and leaves must be in their finest colouring. It’s a lovely season. What is it Keats says: ‘Seasons of mists and mellow fruitfulness, close bosomed friend of the maturing sun.’ The harvest too will all be in now I suppose and ploughing will be in progress. I wonder what sort of fruit season you had at home. And the evenings will be drawing in, with a feeling of frost in the air. And I suppose you will be getting the first of those strange evenings when the sun drops to the horizon with a bank of mist and is just a red disc, and there is a vague mistiness everywhere and a strange quietness. And celery for tea! What a lot of character a country like this misses because there are no seasons – no time of growth, no autumn and no dead winter when the trees are bare.24

  On 10 October, with the situation no clearer and the whole Fernando Po operation in danger of stalling, Maid Honor left Freetown on her first clandestine mission. Grudgingly authorised by Vice Admiral Algernon Willis after repeated orders from London – the Admiral felt, frankly, that Maid Honor would be better off turning round and sailing home – they were ordered to snoop along the coast from the Gulf of Guinea to neutral Liberia looking for secret submarine bases or supply dumps. They sailed from Freetown with even more hardware than they had brought with them. March-Phillipps had managed to procure four depth charges, just in case they met German U-boats. He was aware, however, that the blast from his depth charges would not discriminate between friend and foe: ‘If we can’t knock a sub out any other way, we shall heave these into the ocean. The sub will then proceed to perdition, closely followed by ourselves.’25 That first trip lasted five days and – if the log is to be believed – they did see a German U-boat; possibly: ‘Sunday, October 12. Sighted shape like a submarine which disappeared suddenly. Reported by wireless. Engine failed.’26

  Most trips lasted longer than just a few days as they slipped into a routine of operational patrol followed by rest, recuperation and refit back at Lumley Beach. Maid Honor would sail along the coast, investigate creeks, lagoons and deltas, send a scouting party ashore, perhaps investigate a promising estuary by Folbot canoe. On one of these recces of the Pongo River, begun on 7 November 1941, March-Phillipps and Appleyard launched their canoe whilst Maid Honor was still ten miles offshore.27 They paddled to land and then spent three days, plagued by mosquitoes, lying up in the mango swamps by day and playing chess in the sand with twigs to pass the time in the sweltering heat before paddling up river at night looking for signs of the elusive enemy they never found. One night, with Appleyard in the bow, March-Phillipps accused him of slacking when progress slowed to a crawl: ‘Come on, Apple. Do your bit,’28 he hissed. The reason for the slow progress became apparent: a crocodile, jaws agape, white teeth gleaming in the moonlight, was straddling the bows of the frail canoe, slowing their progress. A swipe of the paddle by Appleyard dislodged him and the pace immediately picked up. Dangerous times in mosquito, shark and crocodile-infested waters.

  But no sign of a U-boat. Tom Winter, one of those aboard Maid Honor, recorded : ‘Gus’s nightly prayers surely included one for a U-boat to surface and ask the Maid Honor for some fish. If one did, he was prepared to sink her with the hidden depth-charges or to blow a hole in her with the spigot mortar …’29 A small ship offers no place to hide. Faults and strengths are exposed to all. Aboard Maid Honor, Appleyard continued to be impressed by his childhood friend, Graham Hayes:

  Graham is in great form and invaluable. He has an enormous capacity for work and is about the finest chap you could have with you. Gus, too, flourishes and is as full of drive as ever, which is one of the reasons for my saying we are not likely to be here much longer as, with the prospect of things slackening, Gus is already pushing for a move to ‘fresh pastures’.

  In all, Maid Honor completed three clandestine reconnaissance missions to the African shore: the first ‘submarine patrol’ on 10–14 October, the second to the Liberian coast on 23–30 October and the third to the Pongo River on 7–10 November.30 Those missions were not entirely fruitless: two full 50-gallon oil drums in good condition were found – allegedly washed ashore – and there were persistent rumours of an earlier visit by two Germans who arrived at Baffu by boat from Monrovia. There was no sign of them during the Maid Honor patrols and March-Phillipps felt it safe to assume the Germans were making a reconnaissance with a view
to establishing their own refuelling points.31 But such patrols – and their slender gleanings of intelligence – cut little ice back in Freetown. Had their presence in West Africa been welcomed by officialdom, there might well have been more patrols. But it was not and, consequently, there were not.

  In Poole it had been Commander Slocum who had frustrated March-Phillipps’ intentions. Here it was the Commander-in-Chief, South Atlantic, Vice Admiral Algernon Willis. Returning on 11 November 1941 from their latest patrol in search of those elusive U-boat bases, March-Phillipps learned that there would be no more reconnaissance missions along the coast. Their forays into neutral territory made them too risky, too dangerous. Maid Honor and her crew spent the next three weeks at Lumley Beach waiting for news from London. There was nothing else to do.

  Even while they had been at sea, Maid Honor’s long-term future had hung in the balance – for a while there was the very real possibility that, unwanted and with no further specific role in West Africa, she might simply return to England. In London, SOE was reviewing its own briefings to March-Phillipps in the event of the ‘fiasco’ that might surround the decision to order Maid Honor back to home waters:

  March-Phillipps could not have had any illusions regarding the employment of his ship and crew on the coast. He had been informed that there was a possibility that the crew might be used for land operations and to satisfy a request from Franck for additional sabotage experts. March-Phillipps had expressed his complete agreement with these instructions. Major Hanau [‘Caesar’] did not think that March-Phillipps, even if the despatch of the Maid Honor proved a fiasco operationally, would regret the trip.32

  Now, a month on, London was still stalling. With the Fernando Po attack on the horizon there was now a ‘definite prospect’33 of work for Maid Honor and her crew. They should sit tight and await further instructions.

  SOE Headquarters, meanwhile, were working hard to break the deadlock. Louis Franck, back in London on timely leave, had taken the opportunity to refine the plan of attack for the ships at Fernando Po and had enlisted Gubbins’ help to press his case with both the Foreign Office – code initials ZP – and the Admiralty, which gave Admiral Willis his orders. Now, instead of simply blowing up the passenger liner in a raid that would rely on crude ‘bangs’ which could not fail to antagonise the Spanish authorities, the intention would be to break the liner out of her anchors and tow her quietly out of harbour at dead of night: it was a classic interpretation of what today has become the motto of the Royal Marines Special Boat Service, based at Hamworthy, 2 miles across Poole Harbour from Maid Honor’s secret summer anchorage at Russel Quay: By Strength and Guile. If the mission were successful, the Duchessa d’Aosta, her cargo and the Likomba would become valuable prizes, not just rusting hulks littering the shallow bottom of a neutral harbour. And – better yet – if they played it right, then both vessels would be gone, leaving no trace of those who had stolen them. There would be suspicion, most certainly. But, without proof, Britain’s hands would be clean. It was a persuasive argument. At the eleventh hour, it appears, Louis Franck and Brigadier Colin Gubbins had carried the day. Both the Foreign Office and the Admiralty had been persuaded to authorise the raid on Fernando Po. Signal from SOE London to ‘W’ Station Lagos, 14 November 1941:

  ZP AND ADMIRALTY HAVE AUTHORISED SHIP PROJECTS AT FERNANDO PO AND LOBITO. TAKE NO ACTION PENDING FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.34

  The mission was about to become reality. As such, it now warranted a code name. One was duly allocated: Operation Postmaster.

  Notes

  1. Anders Lassen, 60.

  2. HS 8/ 217.

  3. Anders Lassen, 61.

  4. BBC Henrietta.

  5. Anders Lassen, 62.

  6. Geoffrey, 80.

  7. Ibid., 83.

  8. Maid Honor Log Book held in the Perkins Papers, 14319, Documents and Sound Section, Imperial War Museum.

  9. Letter held in the Perkins Papers, 14319, Documents and Sound Section, Imperial War Museum.

  10. Entry in Maid Honor Log Book held in the Perkins Papers, 14319, Documents and Sound Section, Imperial War Museum.

  11. Ian Fleming and SOE’s Operation Postmaster, Brian Lett, 53.

  12. HS 3/74.

  13. Ian Fleming and SOE’s Operation Postmaster, 52.

  14. HS 3/86.

  15. HS 7/219.

  16. HS 3/86.

  17. Memo from Rear Admiral Holbrook to the Director of Naval Intelligence, July 31 1941.

  18. HS 7/221.

  19. HS 3/86.

  20. Geoffrey, 84.

  21. HS 3/86.

  22. HS 3/86.

  23. Signal from Caesar to W, 6 October 1941. HS 3/86.

  24. Geoffrey, 86.

  25. Anders Lassen, 91.

  26. Ibid., 78.

  27. HS 7/223.

  28. Anders Lassen, 81.

  29. Ibid., 87.

  30. Maid Honor Log.

  31. HS 3/722.

  32. HS 7/221, 21–2.

  33. HS 7/222 (19–20 November 1941).

  34. HS 3/86.

  7

  With Friends Such As These …

  The men of Maid Honor Force broke camp and set sail for Lagos, 1,300 miles down the African coast, on 30 November 1941. The provisional date for Operation Postmaster was 22 December. With March-Phillipps were eleven of his thirteen men – two were held back by malaria – all of whom were sent on their way with the good wishes of the fellow gunners of the Royal Artillery unit whose mess they had shared. They presented the ship with a special gift to mark their happy association on the warm sands of Lumley Beach: ‘Seen off by Gunners,’ wrote March-Phillipps in the ship’s log soon after Maid Honor got under way. ‘Presented with silver mug. Jolly good send off.’

  The voyage to Lagos should have taken seven days. In the event, recurring engine breakdowns and light winds turned the journey into a slow and wearying fortnight, their dawdling progress enlivened only by the harpooning by André Desgrange of a 9-foot shark that was hauled alongside and then shot through the head by Graham Hayes with his .45 automatic. It was, wrote Appleyard, ‘a filthy brute and as ugly as sin and stank like a sewer.’1 They cut off its fin and nailed that to the bowsprit to replenish their store of good luck. Maid Honor made her way into Lagos harbour on 14 December.

  The Maid Honor SOE support team waiting in Lagos had much to plan and discuss before Operation Postmaster could be passed up the line to London for approval. Time, meanwhile, was slipping by and, in the prolonged absence of both March-Phillipps, Maid Honor Force Commanding Officer and Appleyard, his second-in-command, the three men who would do so much behind the scenes to make Operation Postmaster a success began to refine their own thoughts as to how the raid’s objective – the seizure of both the Duchessa d’Aosta and the Likomba – might best be accomplished. The three were Colin Michie, the British Vice Consul at Santa Isabel, Major Victor Laversuch (W4), of SOE’s ‘W’ Section, and Lt Leonard Guise (W10), formerly of the Nigerian government service who had been seconded to SOE in March 1941. It says much for the intelligence, foresight and painstaking tactical appreciations conducted by these three undercover civilians that, when March-Phillipps and Appleyard finally arrived in Lagos on 14 December to run their professional and operational slide rule over their proposals, they adopted them virtually piecemeal. Sergeant Tom Winter, one of the original Maid Honor party who took part in Operation Postmaster, recorded: ‘Great credit must also be given to those nameless few who “prepared the ground”. Without their efforts the operation could never have succeeded, and at considerable hazard they were responsible for enabling plans to be made that reduced risk to a minimum.’2

  The final operational plan for Postmaster would ultimately have to be submitted via London to both General Giffard, the local army commander, and Admiral Willis, his naval counterpart. Before that could be done, however – and following the swift postponement of that 22 December H Hour after Maid Honor’s late arrival made it hopelessly impracticable – the men
in Lagos determined to secure London’s formal agreement to a list of operational principles they drew up together. These were submitted and agreed by London on 20 December.3 The ‘given’ between London and Lagos was that both target vessels would be seized simultaneously by coup de main and towed into international waters, not simply blown up or disabled in Santa Isabel harbour; that the assault on both ships must take place at night; and that each target ship must be allocated its own towing tug whose professional master and crew must also take part in the operation.

  Sitting there, making their plans, all were aware of the mission’s potential for failing in spectacular fashion. Covert reconnaissance over many weeks by the shore party had established the size of the local Spanish garrison and the number of heavy weapons, including 6-inch guns and machine-guns that could be brought to engage the raiders if they were detected during the approach – the Duchessa d’Aosta was moored less than 60 yards from the end of the quay. And, even if the raiders reached the deck of both ships undetected in the darkness, their problems were by no means over. Unless taken by complete surprise, the crews of both vessels – there might be as many as thirty Italians aboard the merchant vessel, some of whom could be armed – could offer the potential of a prolonged and costly below-decks gun battle that could bring death, injury, exposure, mission failure, disgrace and political humiliation to the men of Maid Honor Force, the British consulate and the Foreign Office in distant London. If they were to succeed, ran SOE’s reasoning in that signal to London, then more fighting men were needed, men who could be recruited locally. Force might well have to be used and there would be explosions as charges of plastic explosive went off to sever both target vessels from anchors and moorings. All involved conceded that Spanish suspicion of British involvement was unavoidable. What was absolutely vital, however, was to ensure that suspicion was not bolstered by the smallest shred of evidence. A new date was set for the raid during the next moonless period: Operation Postmaster would now be mounted on the night of 14–15 January 1942.

 

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