Renaldo

by James McCreath

  old spot back in the first division.

  Sixteen-year-old Reginald Russell urged his father to open the purse

  strings and acquire the necessary talent to gain promotion. While in boarding

  at Eton, young Reggie had formed a Canaries Fan Club amongst his peers.

  These youthful fanatics sent a petition to Elliott Russell, consisting of over

  two hundred signatures, pledging their undying support to the Canary Wharf

  Football Club.

  While this did not translate into pounds and shillings, it moved the elder

  Russell to open the corporate coffers sufficiently to purchase a few class players

  that were available on the transfer market. Many of the other league division

  clubs were in dire financial straits, and they were more than happy to part with

  a player or two, just to keep the lights burning. The money was wisely spent,

  and the following season the Canaries, again, joined the ranks of England’s

  football elite.

  Gaining promotion was the easy part of the scheme. Competing with

  the likes of Manchester United, Leeds, Tottenham Hotspur and the rest of the

  league giants was another matter. The corporate balance sheet could not sustain

  the higher salaries that were demanded from first division players, and the old,

  but lovable Bird Cage was in great need of major refurbishment to bring it up

  to modern-day standards. The Canaries finished their first two seasons in the

  premier league in the lower regions of the table, avoiding relegation, but the

  writing was on the wall.

  Without a major influx of capital, the team could not compete with their

  new adversaries for a prolonged period. While the Canary Wharf Trading

  Company had diversified into several different areas of trade and commerce

  before the Great Depression hit, the overall balance sheet was still extremely

  anemic by the start of 1938. The board of directors could not see the merit in

  pouring the corporation’s capital into a venture that was losing money. The

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  JAMES McCREATH

  truth was that the football club had little hope of turning a profit without a

  larger, modern stadium that would warrant higher ticket prices. The funds for

  such a project were just not available in those belt-tightening times, and much

  to the dismay of his son, Elliott Russell refused to open his wallet a second

  time.

  As a result, the Canaries sank to the bottom of the standings and were

  relegated to the second division at the end of the 1938 season.

  The disappointed Canary Wharf supporters stayed away from the old Bird

  Cage by the thousands, taking their loyalties a few stops up the tube line to

  the home of the ‘Hammers.’ West Ham was enjoying a successful run at the

  top of the first division at the time, and the team still had strong links to the

  shipbuilding and seafaring community. The fortunes of his football team were

  insignificant to Elliott Russell, for he was astute enough to realize that there

  were far greater concerns facing the United Kingdom at that moment in time.

  The news from the continent was chilling. In Germany, a country still

  despised by most Englishmen, a former corporal in the Kaiser’s army was

  stirring the nationalistic passions of the Hun again. Adolph Hitler was a name

  that seemed to be in the news on a daily basis, and Elliott Russell knew full

  well where the rantings of this madman would lead. In early 1939, he obtained

  an audience with the War Ministry and offered all the resources of the Canary

  Wharf Trading Company to the service of his Majesty the King. Should war

  come again to the Empire, prime dock lands and their associated storage

  facilities would be of vital importance.

  The gesture proved most timely, for when Germany invaded Poland in

  September of that same year, Great Britain found itself, once again, locked in

  deadly conflict with its old foe. The Canary Wharf Trading Company virtually

  ceased to exist during the six years that followed, and even the football team

  had to relocate its home fixtures due to the War Office’s expropriation of the

  Bird Cage as a storage and training facility.

  The Nazi air blitz on London that commenced in August 1940 pinpointed

  the shipping and marine facilities as primary targets, and both Canary Wharf

  and the Bird Cage suffered extensive damage as a result. It appeared to anyone

  who ever had been thrilled by the exploits of the yellow and black, that the

  once proud Canary Wharf Football Club would never rise from the ashes of

  Hitler’s destruction.

  But those people did not know Reginald Arthur Nelson Russell. The

  Canaries were never far from his thoughts, even though they had fallen on hard

  times and lost favor with many of their supporters. Young Reggie longed for

  the return to the glory years that were chronicled in the recently published

  team history, but he, like his father, had more pressing matters to attend.

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  RENALDO

  After completion of his preparatory education at Eton, Reggie had enrolled

  in the Royal Naval College at Dartmouth. He had completed two years of

  training when the conflict broke out against the Axis forces in Europe. The lad

  was a gifted athlete who had been a championship swimmer at both Eton and

  the college. He had developed a striking physique from his pool activities and

  hours of canoeing on the River Dart. The early morning sorties up the Dart in

  his one-man Rob Roy canoe left him invigorated and ready to tackle the day’s

  more mundane classroom activities.

  Reginald Russell was a bright, energetic student. A voracious reader, he

  would tackle the complex questions of mathematics, astronomy, and naval

  warfare with an inquisitive mind. His shock of unruly blond hair was always

  distinguishable in the lecture halls, no matter how closely cropped the seaman’s

  cut. Although he felt his appearance too angular to be considered handsome,

  the young ladies of Dartmouth obviously disagreed.

  The aristocratic lad from London was the most popular of all the aspiring

  officers whenever college dances permitted female guests on the grounds. He

  was a spinner of yarns, and as smooth on his feet as he was quick with his wits.

  His years at the college were the happiest of his young life, but it was a lifestyle

  that came to an abrupt end when England learned the deadly meaning of the

  word ‘blitzkrieg’ in the fall of 1939.

  The world was at war again, and every able-bodied man was needed to

  protect the Empire. After lengthy discussions with his father, Reggie decided to

  forgo the balance of his accelerated naval training and the assured commission

  as an officer upon graduation. Instead, he enlisted as a recruit in the Royal

  Marines, as was the family’s military tradition.

  Events moved quickly in Europe, and in a matter of months, the new

  enlistee was promoted to sergeant and put out to sea. His initial assignment,

  after completing basic training at the Marine depot in Deal, was protecting

  North Sea oil rigs aboard the corvette H.M.S. Wallflower. It was dangerous yet

  tedious work, and the new marine longed for action at closer quarters.

  After the fall of Dunkirk and the withdrawal of the Allied forces from
the

  continent in 1940, the high command decided that a special force was required

  to mount vigorous raiding operations against occupied Europe. Drawing

  personnel from the elite divisions of the army and the Royal Marines, the new

  units were to be called ‘commandos,’ after the Boer irregulars that had operated

  behind British lines in the South African war.

  Using his father’s influence with the War Ministry, Reggie obtained leave

  to attend the commando training center at Lympstone. His education here

  was the most taxing of any he had received to date, as he was trained in the

  many lethal facets of war that Marine commandos were expected to master. By

  chance, shortly before his stay at Lympstone was completed, a call for volunteers

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  JAMES McCREATH

  went out, seeking strong swimmers with canoeing experience. Within a week,

  the future Earl of Weymouth found himself on the Isle of Arran off the south

  west coast of Scotland, training with a new elite squadron called the ‘Folbot

  Company.’

  Named after their lightweight, collapsible, two-man canoes, this

  specialized group of individuals was to spearhead clandestine reconnaissance in

  several theaters of the war. The training was, once again, extensive and arduous.

  The days were spent swimming miles in frigid waters, paddling until ‘one’s

  arms seemed to go numb,’ then being subjected to agonizing forced marches

  at ‘double-quick’ over the desolate, hilly countryside. It was a grueling, almost

  cruel education, but what excited Reginald Russell more than anything was

  the intelligence training that he was receiving.

  This training entailed analyzing tidal currents, weather patterns,

  beachhead rock composition, and much, much more. It was this same

  intelligence work that could save the lives of thousands of soldiers. Reggie used

  his keen, analytical mind to decipher and assimilate the reams of pertinent data

  that was thrown at the recruits in those first few weeks.

  The volunteers were summarily moved to Kabrit, on the northern end

  of the Suez Canal, without prior notice in January 1941. Here, their training

  continued under the combined operations group, which included volunteers

  from the army’s Special Air Services, or SAS. Along with reconnaissance,

  the commandos were trained in the use of plastic explosives and underwater

  limpet mines, which were to be used in concert with their shore raids and anti-

  navigation expeditions. The unit’s Folbot canoes had since been replaced by

  larger, more durable Cockle-type canoes.

  Operating exclusively under the cover of darkness, the raiding parties

  would be launched from submarines several miles out to sea from their targets.

  The Cockles were then paddled silently ashore, hidden from sight, and the land-

  based operation carried out. The boat’s ability to avoid coastal radar detection

  was their main benefit, their instability in surging tides and choppy seas their

  biggest drawback.

  After successful small-scale reconnaissance operations on the occupied

  Greek island of Rhodes and the German-held Lybian coastal town of Badia,

  Sergeant Russell was chosen for a single-crew demolition raid in Axis Sicily.

  The target was a railway spur running from the coast to the capital of Palermo.

  Accompanying the sergeant was Lieutenant Brian Downs, originally a rower

  with the Cambridge University Heavy Eights. The men were launched from

  the submarine H.M.S. Utmost on a moonless June night, some four miles off

  the Sicilian coast. As they made their way toward the invisible shoreline, the

  commandos were aghast to find Italian fishing boats blocking the approach

  route.

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  Often these Italians toiled with armed German guards aboard, and should

  the intruders be sighted, all hell would break loose. The months of training in

  the techniques of silent paddling paid off, however, and the commandos skirted

  all the trawlers undetected.

  Once ashore, still operating in total darkness, they hurriedly took samples

  of the beach stones for analysis, then proceeded inland. A visible line of telegraph

  poles that ran parallel to the rail spur helped guide the commandos to their

  objective. Having traveled no more than a third of a mile inland and with no

  enemy contact, the two operatives were able to plant their plastic explosives with

  weight-sensitive fuses under the tracks, cut the telegraph wires, and rendezvous

  back with the submarine as easily as if they had been on exercises.

  As the two Englishmen were pulling alongside the navy vessel, the sky

  lit up with a telltale display of their destructive work. Exact confirmation

  of the damage inflicted was confirmed by a reconnaissance plane the next

  morning. The two commandos were presented with a black-and-white photo of

  a thoroughly demolished locomotive and several derailed box cars. A promotion

  to Lieutenant was Reggie’s reward for a job well done.

  Over the next two years, the ‘Special Boat Service,’ or SBS, as they had

  come to be known, took part in hundreds of operations in the Mediterranean

  and against Fortress Europe. The intelligence information and the destructive

  nature of the small-scale raids made the group invaluable to the Allied High

  Command. The section was overseen by the ‘Special Operations Executive,’ or

  SOE, a covert arm of the War Ministry that was, among other things, responsible

  for planting and retrieving secret agents from enemy territory. More often than

  not, the SBS was the main means of transport used to collect the operatives

  planted by the SOE. Reggie enjoyed these particular assignments most, for the

  gathering and decoding of intelligence was still his favorite pastime.

  Lieutenant Russell was to spend a great deal of his time in 1942 attached

  to the Combined Operations Headquarters, where he personally took it upon

  himself to improve the equipment that was available to the SBS section. Better

  canoes, better waterproofing of equipment, and standardized training of recruits

  were only some of the recommendations that Headquarters adopted on the

  young lieutenant’s urging. The High Command appreciated the value of small

  raiding parties, even if they acted only as diversions to pin down enemy troops

  in positions that often lacked any strategic importance.

  With the Allies turning their attention to gaining a foothold on the ‘Dark

  Continent,’ the SBS curriculum was expanded to include active theaters of war.

  Reconnaissance of potential landing beaches on the North African coast were

  scouted by ‘the Cockles’ as to the type and density of sand or rock for supporting

  landing craft. Subsequently, the SBS canoeists were taught to act as channel

  markers with their infrared signaling beams to guide the landing craft ashore.

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  JAMES McCREATH

  The fruit of all this preparation were born on the night of November 8,

  1942, when the American task force, guided by SBS canoeists, landed in North

  Africa one hundred miles east of Algiers. Naturally, Lieutenant Reginald

  Russell was one of the SBS men guiding the way.

  The Allies took a roller-coaster ride on the fortunes
of war over the

  following two years. However, the commandos of the Special Boat Section, due

  to experience, better equipment, and diligent training, enjoyed a success rate on

  operations that was the envy of the entire military command. Reggie Russell,

  Captain Russell as of March 1944, continued to be at center stage both in the

  field and in the war council rooms.

  Command of his own group of canoeists was an adjunct to the promotion,

  and his group ‘R,’ for Reggie canoeists, proved to be the most daringly proficient

  band of water rats in the whole section. The intelligence information that its

  commander was able to turn over to Headquarters proved invaluable. He had

  personally cracked several Axis code books that his commandos had captured

  during specific covert operations. By mid-1944, the former Eton student was

  back in England, having used both his garnered intelligence and the signals

  of his canoeists to assist in the Allied landings in France on a day forevermore

  known as ‘D-Day.’

  The Special Operations Executive had taken a real shine to Reggie Russell

  and his long list of achievements. The problem for Reggie was that he was

  becoming a desk commando, keenly sought after in the conference rooms for

  his knowledge of German intelligence.

  Innumerable trips to Whitehall in London took him away from the

  front-line action, and he began to sense that he was more and more a Special

  Operations Executive man instead of a fighting commando. The captain had

  never feared for his personal safety and loved the rush of adrenaline that always

  accompanied close proximity to the enemy. His superiors, while not outright

  forbidding Reggie from going out on active operations, let it be known that he

  had become far too vital to their intelligence network to be risking his neck

  like some “wet-behind-the-ears” recruit.

  Reginald Russell’s sense of personal immortality was to change in early

  November 1944. A massive raid was to be executed against Walcheren, a

  heavily defended Scheldt estuary island protecting the approaches to the

  German-held port of Antwerp, Belgium. An amphibious landing was to be

  supported by Lancaster bombers. It was up to the Special Boat Squadron to

  secure essential preliminary landing information and act as marker guides for

  the main assault.