The Story of Glider 57 – The Cliffs of Cape Murro di Porco

Waco glider 57 landed in the sea off Sicily, near the forbidding cliffs of Cape Murro di Porco. As the men floundered onto the wing, they came under fire.

Glider 57 - Capo Murro di Porco cliffs, Operation-Ladbroke_com (C) Aurora Publishing
The cliffs at the point of Cape Murro di Porco in lowering, glowering mood. In many places the cliffs have been undercut by water erosion, presenting an unclimbable overhang to anybody in the water. Glider 57 finally drifted ashore near here.

Glider: CG-4A Waco 57
Glider carrying: CO and men of Battalion HQ of 1 Border Regiment.
Troops’ objective: Outskirts of Syracuse. For more detail, see here.

Manifest

CO
Batman
Adjt
RSO, 18 set
1 man Def Sec
2 Sigs, 18 set
2 Sigs, 68 set
MO
I Sjt
1 man I Sec
Handcart
5 or 6 folding bicycles

Names:

Lt Col G V Britten, Bn CO
Capt G G Black, RMO
Lt J S D Hardy, RSO
Capt N A H Stafford, Adjutant
Sgm Gilbert
Sjt Burton
Cpl Day
L Cpl Smith
L Cpl Toman
Pte Clark
Pte Cull
Pte Ditte

The men in Waco glider 57 represented half of the Battalion HQ of 1 Border. Apart from the commander and his immediate team, it included a small intelligence unit and four signallers under the battalion’s Regimental Signals Officer, Lt Hardy [account]. The signallers carried two 18 Set radios [info] for communicating with the battalion’s companies. They also carried a 68 Set radio [info] for communicating with the battalion’s parent formation, 1 Air Landing Brigade (1 ALB). Both radios were in theory man-portable, but were heavy and would benefit from being carried in the handcart [info]. In the absence of vehicles, the HQ men could move about the battlefield on bicycles [info], and couriers could substitute for radios. All this equipment was lost when the glider landed in the sea.

The other half of the HQ, headed by the battalion’s second in command, with duplicate equipment, was carried in glider 58. Glider 58, however, like glider 57 and many others [story], also landed in the sea. This meant that there was no battalion HQ in action during Operation Ladbroke, and, without radios, no information at all reached 1 ALB or 1 Airborne Division about the progress of the glider troops. Command on land fell to Major Du Boulay as the next most senior Border officer, even though he had been wounded.

It was not just the battalion HQ that failed to land entirely, or almost entirely. The battalion’s Regimental Medical Officer, Captain Black of 181 Field Ambulance (181 FA), was out of action with the rest of the men from glider 57, but so also were all the 181 FA gliders assigned to land with the Border troops. These were gliders 62, 66 and 70, all of which carried only medical men [story]. All three gliders landed in the sea. Luckily, a few other medics had been scattered among the gliders of the Border fighting troops, and these provided vital aid to the wounded.

After-action reports stressed the lesson learned here: disperse important equipment and personnel among multiple gliders.

USAAF Tug Pilot’s Report

Tug: C-47, 41-18446, 7 Squadron, 62 Troop Carrier Group, 51 Troop Carrier Wing USAAF.
Takeoff: 19:15, from Airstrip C, El Djem No. 2, Tunisia. Priority 1.
Tugs returned: Between 00:38 and 04:15, except one landed at Sfax.

Pilot: 2nd Lt. John A Hartley

The pilots of 62 TCG must have submitted individual reports at debriefing, but if these were recorded, the document does not seem to have survived. A group report stated:

“Gliders released 2 – 5 minutes late owing to excessive wind. 4 gliders reported released early, but pilots consider they should have reached L.Z.”

Glider Pilots’ Reports

Glider allotted Landing Zone: LZ 2.

First pilot: Lt William R Buchan, British Glider Pilot Regiment (GPR).
Second pilot: F/O Paul O Rau, US Army Air Force (USAAF).

 Lt W R Buchan, Waco glider 57FO P O Rau, Waco Glider 57

Left: Lt William Buchan in a 3rd Squadron photograph taken in 
Putignano in Italy in November 1943. Source: Buchan.
Right: American F/O Paul Rau in a photograph taken some time 
after Operation Ladbroke. The wings on the right breast of his
jacket have a crown at the centre, so cannot be American. They 
are in fact British GPR wings, awarded after the operation to 
the US GP volunteers who flew to Sicily as co-pilots. Source: 
US NWWIIGPA.

The divisional report is apparently based on Lt Buchan’s debriefing, as he was first pilot:

“Glider pilot stated tug a/c made incorrect approach – not as planned. Intercomn went u/s. Glider cast off at 2250 hrs, at 1400 ft, approx. 2½ miles off shore; could not make land and came down in sea approx ¼ mile off CAPE MURRO DI PORCO.”

Flight Officer Rau, an American glider pilot volunteer flying in the second pilot’s seat, reported:

“Just west of Cape Murro di Porco, I was in doubt as to our exact position because we seemed to have changed heading a few times. Finally we recognized the spot we were supposed to go in over and we cut loose and made a turn toward shore. A few minutes before peeling off the searchlights appeared and the flak was fairly heavy. The number of lights and the amount of flak seemed to increase as we cut toward shore.

As soon as we started our glide in we were almost sure we wouldn’t make land. At 500 feet we warned our troops to get ready for a ducking. We hit shortly afterward and the fuselage immediately filled with water.”

A further report is available in Lt Hardy’s account. He was a passenger and, as one of the officers on board, was probably seated not far behind the pilots:

“There was a little flak, but none of it came very near us at all. Our pilot cast off at what we, the crew, thought was the correct place, but which was as near as the tug was willing to go without taking evasive action. We were actually quite a way out at a height of only 1300 ft. We glided all along the South coast of the Cap du Porco, heading straight for the LZ, but could not make landfall. Lt [Buchan] gave us “prepare to ditch”, but his order was not heard at the back of the glider. The front emergency doors were jettisoned, and the rear doors still locked when the glider actually hit the water.”

Landing spot of Glider 57 near the cliffs of Cape Murro di Porco. , Operation-Ladbroke_com (C) Aurora Publishing
Green marks the spot. Glider 57 landed near the cliffs of Cape Murro di Porco.

As so often with multiple witnesses, these accounts do not quite tally, nor make sense in every respect. For example, Hardy and Rau disagree about the amount of flak (which was probably mainly coming from the battery near the tip of the cape). More significantly, it’s hard to see from their accounts how glider 57 ended up where it did. If it was released west of the cape (as Rau implies), and turned towards LZ 2, it would have been heading north-west, yet we know it ended up at the eastern end of the cape. Equally, if it travelled all along the south coast of the peninsula (as Hardy says) from east to west, again it makes no sense that it ditched where it did.

Lt W R Buchan in Tiger Moth. (C) Buchan.
Lt Buchan later in the war, in the instructor’s seat of a Tiger Moth, the RAF’s primary trainer aircraft.

Two of the three accounts at least agree that the tug pilot seemed lost or off course, although Hardy’s suggestion that the tug refused to go closer to avoid flak must be supposition, as the intercom had failed and the tug pilot could not have explained this. It is not implausible, however, as we know the tugs had been ordered to keep their distance for exactly this reason [story]. Buchan’s estimate that the glider was released some 2.5 miles out is the best explanation, as it was nearly 50% further out than the intended 1.7 miles. Distance from the shore was almost impossible to gauge for both the glider and the tug [story].

Glider 57 in the Sea

All 14 men in the glider (including the two glider pilots) managed to escape from the water-filled glider and clamber onto the wings, which remained level with the surface. Several gliders floated nearby, some further out in the bay, some nearer the cliffs. Among them was glider 2, piloted by Lt Col George Chatterton, the CO of the Glider Pilot Regiment, which carried Brigadier Philip Hicks, the CO of 1 Air Landing Brigade. Lt Col McCardie, CO of 2 South Staffords, was also in the sea not far away, clinging onto glider 3. Along with Britten, CO of 1 Border, who was in 57, this meant that no less than four out of the operation’s top five commanding officers were “in the drink” together near the cape that night.

Fairly quickly they came under fire from machine guns on the top of the cliffs. A battery of three large anti-ship guns was located on the cliffs, not far from the lighthouse at the tip of the cape. Named “Lamba Doria” after an Italian naval hero, the battery was equipped with searchlights and surrounded by barbed wire. Its defences included machine guns against ground attack and 20mm AA cannons against air attack. It was these that had poured AA fire at the gliders as they approached, hitting Chatterton’s glider as he banked it steeply to avoid crashing into the cliff face.

The Italian machine gunners kept firing at the downed gliders. They sent up one flare after another to light up their targets. Luckily, it seems that the machine guns could not depress quite enough to hit the gliders, and the bullets whizzed over the heads of the troops cowering on the wings. Nobody was hit.

Nevertheless it was not a predicament that Britten and the men on glider 57 wanted to continue. They agreed to swim for shore, to try to silence the machine guns. This was a bold plan, as they only had a few revolvers between them. They decided to swim in small groups to avoid attracting attention and alerting the enemy. It seems the combatant officers (Britten, Buchan, Hardy and Stafford) went first, presumably as they carried the pistols. Black, the Medical Officer, was a non-combatant [but see the story of glider 26]. Later, half a dozen or so of the remaining men set off from the glider, presumably led by Black and the two sergeants. Three or four men, including US co-pilot Rau, stayed on the glider, as they either could not swim at all, or not well enough to battle the current.

Lt J S D Hardy account - Capo Murro di Porco cliffs and lighthouse, eastern side, Operation-Ladbroke_com (C) Aurora Publishing
The cliffs on the eastern side of the Cape Murro di Porco are even more daunting than those faced by the airborne men on the southern side. The rocks at the top of the cliffs, visible in the foreground of this photo, are extremely jagged and sharp.

When the officers reached the cliffs, they found them unclimbable in the dark, and they decided to shelter in a cave until daylight. After a while, Buchan swam out to find the rest of the men, but he could not find the glider.  He swam back to the cave.

At 2:15am several squadrons of British Wellington bombers attacked Syracuse in support of the glider troops. A bomber, possibly from this group, was hit by AA fire, perhaps from Lamba Doria, while it was approaching the cape. The plane jettisoned its load near the cliffs and then crashed into the water only yards away from the glider men. Stafford was injured, but it seems none of the other men sheltering in the cliffs or floating on the gliders was hurt. The plane sank, leaving a large slick of aviation fuel burning blue on the surface of the swell (the wreck of what is possibly this aircraft was recently discovered 100 yards off the cape). Rau saw parachutes and assumed it was the crew descending.

The Arrival of the SAS

Not long afterwards Rau and the men still clinging to glider 57 watched the troopers of Britain’s elite SAS Special Raiding Squadron (SRS) attack and destroy the Lamba Doria battery. The scene was also witnessed from afar by the commanding admiral of the invasion fleet, who described how it seemed that the SAS “carried fire and the sword” to the Italian defences. The SAS had arrived by landing craft further west along the cape [story], where they had discovered Chatterton, Hicks and the others from glider 2, who had swum ashore and were sheltering in the cliffs. Glider 2’s men joined the SAS and climbed to the top.

Apparently none of the other men from glider 57 saw the SAS arrive in the dark, probably because they were too far east and tucked under the cliffs. When dawn came, however, they had a ringside seat for a magnificent view of the invasion fleet to the south, where ships and landing craft thronged the waters off George Beach, near Cassibile. Rau remembered:

“It was a wonderful sight, all those boats.”

As planned, the officers from glider 57 now attempted to climb the cliffs. Buchan recorded in his diary:

“0700 we join up with seven others of the crew in another cave. 3 are still on glider: it drifts to shore near the point and they go ashore. We salvage food and 2 .38 pistols from two other gliders which drift past under our cave.”

Rau, one of those still on the glider, recorded:

“The tide was coming in and we started drifting toward the peninsula. We helped along by paddling with whatever we could use and finally got ashore. We were afloat for 12 hours. We climbed to the top of the peninsula. It was very steep and rocky and it took us some time as we had no shoes.”

About the same time Britten decided that he should try and reach the rest of the battalion some miles away near the Ponte Grande bridge. Hardy says the decision was taken at 10am, and that he and Britten set off at 2pm. Buchan says they set off at 5pm. It’s not explained why several hours passed between the decision and the action, nor why the rest of the men were left in the cave. Presumably they were ordered to stay there by Britten.

The Maddalena

Britten and Hardy now made their way north-westwards through the Maddalena Peninsula, much as Rau and the other non-swimmers were doing. Both groups were moving in the wake of the SAS, who had long since stormed along the spine of the peninsula, overcoming defended farms and gun batteries one after the other as they went.

Italian resistance had collapsed. Both sets of airborne wanderers had various adventures (see Hardy’s account), encountering groups of Italians who were already prisoners, or who they disarmed, or who lay wounded in the farms. They took advantage of the situation to get water, eat, arm themselves and even make tea. By now the battle for the Ponte Grande bridge was over. Meanwhile those left in the cave spent the day watching the drama of Axis aircraft attacking the fleet, dog fights as Allied fighters defended, and naval shelling of Italian strongpoints and batteries.

Britten and Hardy finally made contact with Battalion HQ at about 9pm, just as British seaborne troops were capturing Syracuse. Rau and his companions spent the night at an Italian farm, lying on straw provided by the farmer. Next morning they met a British medical officer leading a donkey cart. They rode to rest their sore feet until they reached the main Syracuse highway. They then walked the rest of the way, and had the satisfaction of crossing the intact Ponte Grande bridge, which meant their mission had been a success. Meanwhile Hardy had returned to the cave and gathered the rest of the men.

Aftermath

Operation Ladbroke was the first major operation for Britain’s glider pilots, and they endured the aftermath of most first actions: the sad shock of finding men missing in the mess, who had been firm friends though months and years of training. Buchan recorded many names of the dead. He also expressed the resentment many glider pilots felt towards the tug pilots. Next to a clipping of an upbeat newspaper article by a journalist who had flown on Operation Ladbroke in a tug plane, Buchan wrote what had happened to the glider pilots towed by that plane. Both had broken their legs in a crash landing, leading in the co-pilot’s case to amputation.

The survivors also felt the relief that survival brings, and the preciousness of living. Later, after an evening of food, whisky and music back in camp in Tunisia, Buchan wrote simply:

“Life is good”.

Rau ended his report with a not dissimilar observation:

“It was an experience I shall never forget. And now that it is over I’m glad to have been part of it.”

For other in-depth stories about individual gliders in Operation Ladbroke, click here.

Photograph of Paul Rau courtesy of the US NWWIIGPA.

With thanks to Ian Buchan for photos of his father and family documents.

Posted in All Posts, Glider Stories, Operation Ladbroke - Sicily 1943 | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Lt J S D Hardy, RSO of 1 Border Regiment in Operation Ladbroke

Lt J S D Hardy was Regimental Signals Officer of the 1st Battalion of the Border Regiment in Operation Ladbroke. This is his account.

Lt J S D Hardy account - Capo Murro di Porco cliffs and lighthouse from the SE, Operation-Ladbroke_com (C) Aurora Publishing
The point of Cape Murro di Porco seen from the south-east. There were no pleasure boats about when Waco glider 57 ditched into the sea near these cliffs in the darkness of 9 July 1943.

Lt J S D Hardy was part of the Battalion HQ team of 1 Border Regiment in Waco glider 57 [story] during Operation Ladbroke, the glider assault that spearheaded Operation Husky, the invasion of Sicily on 9 July 1943. His glider landed in the sea just south of the cliffs of Cape Murro di Porco. A week after the invasion, back in Tunisia, he wrote a report on his experiences which was filed with the battalion war diary. What follows is his report in full, with editorial additions or corrections in square brackets [like this]:

“The glider took off from Strip C at 1915 hrs and circled to get into formation for about twenty minutes. As soon as all the gliders were in the air a course was set out to sea. Before take-off the crew were all instructed what to do in case of the glider coming down in the sea, on the correct landing zone, or a crash landing off the zone. The crew were all Bn HQ personnel, Lt Col G.V. Britten, MBE, Capt N.A.H. Stafford, Capt G.G. Black, Lt J.S.D. Hardy, Sjt Burton, L Cpl Toman, L Cpl Smith, Pte Clark, Pte Ditte, Pte Cull, Cpl Day and Sgm Gilbert. The two pilots were Lt [Buchan] and an American pilot.

The trip was uneventful, and the glider, with a fairly heavy load, flew very well. The load included a handcart and five folding cycles, as well as two No. 18 sets, carried by the signallers.

Two islands, which we took to be Linosa and Malta were the only land sighted until about [2200] hrs, when the coast of Sicily could be plainly seen off the port side. There was a little flak, but none of it came very near us at all. Our pilot cast off at what we, the crew, thought was the correct place, but which, was as near as the tug was willing to go without taking evasive action. We were actually quite a way out at a height of only 1300 ft. We glided all along the South coast of the Cap du Porco [Cape Murro di Porco], heading straight for the LZ, but could not make landfall. Lt [Buchan] gave us “prepare to ditch”, but his order was not heard at the back of the glider. The front emergency doors were jettisoned, and the rear doors still locked when the glider actually hit the water.

The fuselage filled absolutely immediately, but there was no panic at all. About half of the crew came through the doors, the remainder through the roof. The first men out started to split the roof as soon as they were clear, and thereby saved the lives of those still inside.

We formed up on the wings a little shaken, but really no worse, and were about to make a plan of action when we and another glider some 50 or 60 yds away were engaged by two MG posts on the cliffs. The enemy fired a few illumination rockets towards us, but their lights did not make the fire much more accurate.

Our only arms were three revolvers and about 18 rounds of amn, so it was useless trying to get all the crew ashore as a fighting unit. We decided to make for the shore in twos and threes, those of us that were armed keeping together to try to do something about the enemy posts. On arrival in shore we found ourselves at the bottom of a cliff face where it was impossible to get higher to get into position anywhere near the enemy posts. We decided to lay up until the following morning.

At 0220 hrs on the morning of the 10th, a bomber [a Wellington attacking Syracuse], which must have been hit by flak, dropped its bomb load in the water about thirty yards away from us, then crashed into the sea itself [story]. Capt Stafford was wounded in the neck and the hand.

At first light we moved along the cliff face then climbed to a ledge fifteen or twenty feet higher. We found all the crew except three, gathered them together, and decided to swim out to the gliders to try to get some water and tinned food. Two or three of us were fairly successful, so the situation, apart from lack of arms, was not too bad. We also managed to get some of the first aid kits from the gliders.

At 1000 hrs Lt Col Britten [the battalion CO] decided to attempt to break through to the Bn area, a distance of six to eight miles, so he and Lt Hardy left at 1400 hrs, hoping to meet up with the Bn by first light the next day. We covered about 1000 yds in the first two hours, this in stockinged feet over the rocks was better than we had hoped, but we thought this too slow, so we pocketed our revolvers and decided to walk boldly through.

We met Lt Green [probably Alan G Green, CO of 15 Platoon in C Company] at about 1700 hrs, he had a batch of thirty or forty prisoners, but no definite information about the Bn as a whole. We filled our water bottles, had some tea and pressed on.

At one place on our way we looked over a wall and saw some 60 Italians, soldiers and civilians. The soldiers were armed so we bluffed them that we had the situation in hand, took their arms and made them destroy them, explaining as best we could that as far as they were concerned the war was over. We could not of course take them prisoner. They gave us quite a cheer as we left.

As darkness set in we were stopped by two men of the Glider Pilot Regiment, they told us they were with a pl of the S. Stafford Regt. As their forming up area was more or less the same as ours they joined us, together we made for Waterloo [the Ponte Grande bridge].

The rest of our journey was more or less uneventful and we reported to Bde HQ at about 2000 hrs. By this time our feet were pretty tender, so we de-booted the first of the many PW [prisoners of war].

We joined Major T.P.H. du Boulay [the CO of H Company, wounded, but the senior present officer in the battalion until now] at about 2100 hrs in the Bn area where we rested for the night. The Bn moved into SYRACUSE at about 0800 hrs the next day, and from there parties were sent out to collect the wounded, and arm the unarmed men with enemy weapons.

Capt Stafford was collected at about 1000 hrs on the 11th and sent off to the CCS [Casualty Clearing Station] on George Beach. The remainder moved to the Bn area on cycles with as much kit as could be collected from the gliders in an old Italian car.”

Posted in All Posts, Archive Documents, Operation Ladbroke - Sicily 1943, Veterans' accounts | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Operation Ladbroke, Fustian, Glutton, Bigot, Husky – or not?

Operation Fustian or Marston? Glutton or Snowboots? Husky 2 or Mackall White? Operation Ladbroke or not? A wry look at the confusion caused by codenames.

AFHQ Bigot footer from Operation Husky

AFHQ produced Bigot messages almost by default, and had pre-printed stationery for the purpose. Confusingly, this footer of a (long since declassified) document is labelled Copy 3, despite stating that copies are forbidden.

Codenames and codewords are designed to confuse the enemy. Unfortunately, they often also confuse their own side.

In World War 2, there were codes for anything and everything that needed to be disseminated in any way, whether by phone, radio, courier or carrier pigeon. It was always possible that the enemy would somehow get hold of it. So it was vital that even if they could read the signals or documents, they would not understand them.

There were codes for places (geographical), codes for planned battles (operations), codes for when things would happen (timing), codes about the outcomes of combat, codes for military units, codes for people, codes for targets [examples], codes for ammunition and supplies. If you could name it, and the enemy would like to know it, then it usually had a codename. Codenames were primarily important, of course, during the planning phase of an operation, so that when the action began it would come as a total surprise to the enemy.

It must have been extremely difficult for central headquarters (HQ) planners to come up with endless numbers of codewords, all of which had to be unique to avoid confusion. These then had to be disseminated secretly to lower formations, who then had to keep them secret, sometimes even from people who would benefit from knowing them. Then the senders and receivers of messages that used the codewords either had to remember them all, or keep the list of secret codes handily out on their desks, when they might better have been kept locked in a safe.

In the case of the Allied invasion of the island of Sicily, our story begins with horror. The Allies had a long list of codenames for places, mainly towns but also islands and other geographical features.  To the amusement of those in the know , the codename for Sicily was Horrified.  Allied officers trying to discover each other’s security clearance used to ask, “Have you been Horrified?” This was a play upon the question, “Have you been classified?”, i.e. entitled to see classified information.

You might then suppose that Operation Horrified was the codename for the invasion of Sicily. If so, you might suppose wrong. It was in fact Operation Husky. Husky was the codename for the entire invasion, which began on 9 July 1943. The codename Operation Husky included all the planned actions (operations) of both the British and American armies, and all their forces, whether land, sea or air.

Was there some reason for using the codename Husky? Presumably it had nothing to do with snow and sleds. Yet the squaddies slogging up the dusty Sicilian roads in 40-degree heat probably exclaimed of the planners: “They’re having a laugh”. The brutality of the Sicilian sun clashed mightily with any thoughts of ice implied by huskies. The crushing heat was the reason that tourist guidebooks of the time strongly advised against visiting Sicily in July and August. This was another source of black humour to the men. Unlike the Baedeker travellers in peacetime, the soldiers faced death when they visited the island, so they wondered why such good advice was being ignored.

Allied airborne forces, both American and British, played vital parts in Husky. The planners envisaged multiple separate operations on separate days. You might think this would require maximum clarity and codenames to suit. Confusingly, this is not the case. For example, the American parachute drop on the first day is known as Husky 1, and its follow-up reinforcement drop is called Husky 2. Enumerating sub-operations like this was unusual. If every sub-formation did it regarding their own operations, then chaos could reign, with duplicate names in profusion. There was also the risk of confusing a sub-operation with the overall operation, yet nobody has so far renamed Husky itself to, say, Husky Zero.

It seems it came about because nobody among the central planners found the time to suggest any proper operation names. In the absence of an officially sponsored name, one planning document for what was later called Husky 1 was unhelpfully headed “Drop Zone (Horrified)”.  Of course, all the parachute drops were in Horrified (Sicily), so the title does not identify the particular operation. More helpfully, the US airborne missions in Husky were also identified as “the first mission” or “the second mission” etc. From there it was presumably a short step to simplifying matters by referring to Husky 1, Husky 2. But simplicity was not a common feature of coding systems.

A complicated (and thus confusing) set of codewords was devised for signalling the details of the follow-up drops once they were decided. For example, Mackall (named after an airborne training camp in the US) called for Combat Team 2, while Bragg summoned Combat Team 3. A signal “Mackall Tonight” meant Husky 2 was a go that night. “Mackall Negative” meant it wasn’t on for that day. There were also Plans Red, White, Blue, Green, Purple and Brown for further paratroop drops. Once a plan was chosen, a silly phrase was to be combined with a colour to signify the timing of that Plan. “Carry White Hat” called for Plan White on D+1 (the day after D-Day), while “Kiss Green Lips” signified Plan Green should be executed on D+15. “Your Purple Eyes” meant Plan Purple should launch on D+7. And so on.

The document explaining some of these codes said they were intended to “speed up and simplify the procedure in launching these lifts”. They are so opaque, however, that users of the scheme may not have agreed. The enemy (if they intercepted the signals) probably felt the same – if so, job done. But you feel sorry for the Allied officer who had to code the signals. You can imagine him sweating anxiously as he checked and rechecked that he hadn’t just inadvertently called for an emergency resupply drop of coloured pencils.

Message from AFHQ re Operation Husky

The header of a now declassified AFHQ message showing its security class as “SECRET – HUSKY – BIGOT”. Other information in the header shows it was sent by Maj Gen Rooks to the US War Department on 2 March 1943.

Husky

So why was the invasion of Sicily called Operation Husky? We don’t know. Previous plans to invade Sicily had been called Influx and Whipcord. No clues there (unless there’s a reference to the traditional whip used to mush husky teams). At one point the British War Cabinet suggested changing Husky to Bellona (the Roman goddess of war), perhaps precisely because Husky seemed strangely inappropriate. It was decided, maybe by Prime Minister Winston Churchill himself, to keep Husky. Codewords, after all, are meant to be random or, even better, misleading.

Churchill acknowledged that there were limits, however. Codenames could blow back tragically on their creators when, for example, families learned that a son, brother, father or husband had died in an operation with a patently silly name. For this reason Churchill advised against names such as Ballyhoo or Bunnyhug. Set against these, the name Bellona clearly wins hands down for having the gravitas and magnificence needed to confer glory on a military operation (compare the codename Overlord given to the invasion of Normandy a year later).

We could ask the same question of Operation Ladbroke, the glider assault on Syracuse in Sicily and the opening move of Operation Husky [story]. Did the choice of the name Ladbroke have any meaning, or was it just random, as codenames were ideally supposed to be? Ladbrokes was back then (and still is to this day) a national chain of UK bookmakers (a betting company). A year after Husky, during the invasion of Normandy in France in 1944, a series of major attacks by General Bernard Montgomery’s army were called Operations Epsom, Goodwood and Totalise. Two of these are the names of racecourses in the UK, while “the Tote” was the British state-run bookmaker.

The same General Bernard Montgomery was the man behind Operation Ladbroke in Sicily [story]. Might then these names somehow imply a heroic race to the finish? Goodwood , for example, was meant to unleash a race by the British armoured divisions, which were all set to go “swanning” (as they termed it) gloriously in the enemy’s rear. Detractors, however, would say most of these operations were indeed well named, because they turned out to be foolish gambles. Goodwood and Ladbroke in particular are deemed by many to have been massacres [story].

Operation Ladbroke was the glider assault which spearheaded Husky. Its primary aim was to facilitate the rapid capture of the port city Syracuse [map], by seizing a nearby bridge. The Allies needed Syracuse’s magnificent harbour so that supplies and reinforcements could be rushed into the beachhead. The Allied geographical code for Syracuse was Ladbroke. Hence the operation to capture the town of Ladbroke was called Operation Ladbroke.

 Glutton and Fustian

The Ladbroke airborne operation was supposed to be followed by two more airborne operations to facilitate the capture of the Sicilian ports of Augusta [map] and Catania [map], also by seizing nearby bridges. The geographical codenames for these ports were Glutton and Fustian respectively. The operations were called, as you may have guessed, Operation Glutton and Operation Fustian. So far so prosaic, and it’s fairly clear that there is no pattern or meaning to the geographical codes. Other towns, for example, had geographical codes such as Appalling, Gizzard and Chimpanzee. Which rather puts paid to the Ladbroke racing and betting theory.

Operations Glutton and Fustian may have been named simply after their town codes, but little is simple when it comes to codes. Like Husky 2, Glutton and Fustian were follow-on operations, and their dates were not fixed in advance. The exact day would be decided according to events on the ground. Like Husky 2, codewords were used in signals about their timing. The Augusta (Glutton) operation’s timing code was Snowboots, while that of Catania (Fustian) was Marston.

So the signal “Marston tonight” started British paratroopers climbing into their aircraft, and set hundreds of aero engines revving on dusty desert strips. On the other hand, British paratroopers climbed back out of their aircraft when the airborne attack on Augusta was cancelled at the last minute [story]. The cancellation signal was “Snowboots not required”. Clearly, snow boots were not required in the blast furnace of a Sicilian summer. Perhaps the staff officer who dreamed up that codename was indeed having a laugh.

This double level of obfuscation (e.g. Catania becomes Fustian becomes Marston) was deliberate. It meant that the timing messages did not need to be encrypted and then decrypted. This allowed for rapid responses to tactical developments during battle, as the messages would not be seriously delayed by overworked cipher clerks. The geographical codes for the towns (such as Ladbroke and Fustian) had been in use for months, while it seems Marston and Snowboots were coined just before the invasion. This meant they were less likely to be known to the enemy, and were thus more suitable for unencrypted messages.

However, in an after-action report, a senior signals officer commented on the lack of encryption:

“‘MARSTON TONIGHT’ was sent back to Airborne Base in clear on D+3 at 1530 hrs. It is reasonable to assume the enemy had by then identified the Airborne base wave, with the result that the message probably gave warning of an event connected with airborne troops, even if the meaning of MARSTON was not known.”

The same officer called the operation Operation Marston, not Operation Fustian. In fact Marston was the codename for the Primosole bridge, the primary target for the paratroopers of Operation Fustian. Using  the bridge’s codename was a reasonable choice for the unencrypted timing signals, but it led to the operation acquiring a potentially confusing second name. This confusion persists to this day.

Something similar happened with Operation Glutton. No less a person than Admiral Andrew Cunningham, Commander in Chief of the Allied Mediterranean fleet, sent a signal to all ships on D+1 containing only two words: Operation Snowboots. It was a warning to his sailors not to shoot down the low-flying paratrooper planes of Operation Glutton as they passed overhead. In the end, the operation was cancelled, but only at the very last minute. Ironically, it seems the message was delayed because it got unnecessarily encrypted by mistake.

Also ironic, if tragic, is the fact that when the planes of Operation Fustian flew over the Allied ships two days later, many were shot down by their own side, despite the fleets having been warned. If the fears of the senior signals officer quoted above were correct, then the warning signal may have inadvertently alerted the Germans that the paras were coming. But it seems it failed to fully alert the Allied forces. There was not enough time to disseminate the warning to all the anti-aircraft gunners on all the ships, thus contributing to the friendly fire disaster. Leaving coded timing messages to the last moment was not without its perils.

Although the use of the codewords Marston and Snowboots led some people to call the operations Marston and Snowboots, others stuck to the script. Brigadier General Paul Williams, CO of the American Troop Carrier Command (TCC) that provided most of the glider-towing and para-dropping aircraft, sent a warning signal on D+1. It colourfully further encoded the codewords, by embedding them in jargon, including baseball-speak. After all, American baseball terms would surely confound any Nazi listeners. British cricket terminology would probably have worked equally well, but Williams was not British. He wrote:

“BALLGAME tonight MACKALL is pitcher? The GLUTTON will NOT show.”

If you’ve been paying attention, and all this confusion has not made your head spin, you will know that this message means: “Be ready to send American airborne Combat Team 2 to drop by parachute tonight to reinforce the men of the first drop. As for the British parachute assault on the bridge near Augusta, it will not be going in tonight.”

Operation Ladbroke

Operation Ladbroke did not suffer from the same problem with last-minute codes for timing signals, because the date of the operation was fixed. There were however other codes. One indicated the capture of Syracuse: “Buckhorse Five”. There were also codes for the Ponte Grande bridge on the approaches to Syracuse. “Committee One” meant the glider troops had captured the bridge [story], while “Committee One Down” meant the Italians had blown the bridge up. Similar codes existed for the capture of the bridges leading to Augusta (“Snowboots One”) and Catania (“Marston One”).

These Operation Ladbroke subsidiary codes may not seem too confusing. Potentially very confusing, however, is the fact that Operation Ladbroke itself was the victim of a mistakenly applied name. In many documents the operation was called Operation Bigot, or Operation Bigot-Husky. This may be because these names fulfilled a need by filling a vacuum, as at first there was no other codename for the glider assault on Syracuse. Before the operation, for example, documents referred simply to “Operation against Ladbroke (codename for Syracuse)”, or “Operation D-1/D (Ladbroke)”.

This evolved in some planning documents into “the Ladbroke operation”, which is not the same as officially designating it Operation Ladbroke (any more than, say, an operation called “the Syracuse operation” would necessarily be named Operation Syracuse).

After the operation, initial reports made no mention of an Operation Ladbroke, referring to it, for example, as “the recent mission”, “the first operation” or Operation Bigot. It was not until a month or so after the operation that some reports began referring to Operation Ladbroke.

At the same time, a US 82nd Airborne Division report on “Airborne Operations Husky and Bigot” was dutifully submitted to highest headquarters and ultimately reached the War Office. Somebody there who read it underlined the word Bigot and wrote in the margin in blue chinagraph pencil: “Who won this battle?” He was referring wryly to the fact that there was no such operation. He probably also knew what Bigot really meant.

51TCW Bigot message re Operation Ladbroke

Messages were still being classed Bigot right up to the invasion. This header of a now declassified document from 6 July 1943 was issued by 51 Troop Carrier Wing, which towed most of the gliders in Operation Ladbroke.

Bigot

So what did Bigot mean? And how did it come to denote, variously and confusingly, different operations to different people? Some used it to mean the whole operation (Husky), some used it to mean all the airborne operations in Husky (both American and British), others thought it meant the operations of the Allied Tactical Air Force. Some thought it meant just Operation Ladbroke.

I have not yet found any original instructions which spell out in precise detail how the codeword Bigot was supposed to function, but we have circumstantial evidence in the records. The appearance of the word Bigot on a document meant that its level of secrecy was the highest, and it needed to be handled with the greatest of care from a security point of view. All Bigot signals were encrypted without question, for example. Only a select few people at a select few HQs were entitled to handle Bigot material. These people were recorded on a Bigot List. Perhaps these officers went about asking : “Are you Bigoted?”

Later, more and more people needed to see documents about the invasion, in order to plan how to perform their parts in it. So further lists of names were compiled, which worked on a similar principle to the Bigot List. Thus people on a list cryptically called the “XO List” were entitled to know everything about the invasion, while lesser mortals on the “YO list” were only entitled to know about some aspects of it. Some say there was also a “ZO List”. If so, it is hard to imagine how tiny were the access privileges of the people on it.

There may not have been an operation or a battle officially called Bigot, but there were some battles about the Bigot system. The minutes of meetings held in the highest HQs refer to its difficulties. The basic problem was caused by all the extra effort that Bigot material entailed. One officer complained that clerks were promiscuously rubber-stamping documents as Bigot that should not have been. They were not Bigot documents because the typescript did not contain the word Bigot.

This was an issue because the word Bigot on a signal automatically caused all the replies to it to become Bigot, even if those signals contained no secrets. Thus a one word reply to a Bigot message (such as “No”) meant that the reply itself automatically became Bigot. Worse still, any attempt to subdivide the daily flood of signals into useful groupings by subject was scuppered when Bigot documents forced the opening of a separate folder held in a different manner.

These things loomed larger at the time than they would seem to merit now. According to General Eisenhower’s head of Intelligence at AFHQ (the supreme headquarters for Husky), the inter-allied harmony between British and American staffs neared meltdown during a dispute over whether to replace the British classification “Most Secret” with the American “Top Secret”. More practically, an officer pointed out that security was all well and good, but if it meant that you did not know enough to do your job properly, it risked undermining the very invasion it sought to protect.

Bigot-Husky

Any document that was to be treated as Bigot had to have the word Bigot in it at the top of the page. This led to early planning documents for Sicily being headed, for example, BIGOT – HUSKY. The addition of Husky was needed to differentiate it from other operations being simultaneously handled (and filed) at the same HQs. These included Operation Torch (the invasion of Morocco and Algeria), followed by the campaign in Tunisia, and, later, the invasion of the Italian mainland. If there had indeed been an operation called Bigot, its documents would surely have to have been headed BIGOT – BIGOT.

Buttress Bigot message

The header of a now declassified document about Operation Buttress, which was planned for the invasion of the Italian mainland after the conquest of Sicily. A quick-reference Bigot label has been added in red chinagraph, and it seems somebody has had an accident with their bottle of Quink Royal Blue ink.

Of course, by definition, anybody not on the Bigot List had no idea what the word Bigot meant. When these benighted individuals were eventually included in the wider lists (e.g. XO, YO), they began to see documents relevant to planning their own roles in the invasion. It seems that they then inherited, or glimpsed, or heard about documents by the Bigot planners, which were of course headed BIGOT – HUSKY. Apparently the newly-initiated men assumed, in the absence of any other codenames, that either the whole invasion was codenamed Bigot-Husky, or just their part in it was.

And it wasn’t just people lower down the security chain. The war diary of the British 1st Airborne Division records that the first time its brigade commanders learned about the invasion of Sicily was when their commanding officer, Major General George Hopkinson, briefed them on what he called Operation Bigot. Similarly, the senior officers of the US 82nd Airborne Division were at the same time referring to “the Bigot Husky operation”.

Does it matter? The glider operation against Syracuse is now known as Operation Ladbroke, even if the name did not gain universal acceptance until after the operation. Meanwhile, only researchers examining old documents are going to come up against the should-not-have-existed codenames Operation Bigot and Operation Bigot-Husky. At the time, ordinary soldiers believed them to be the correct names for their operations, and they seem to have served their purpose. The mistake did not impede the men’s performance in the following fighting.

Still, the history of the codename Operation Ladbroke and other airborne codewords makes a colourful tale. It’s an ironic twist to the familiar story of the fog of war, that in the attempt to confuse the enemy, security measures risk confusing the side that creates them.

 

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The Story of Glider Y – Bayonets & Threats of Execution

Waco glider Y was posted missing in Operation Ladbroke. A recently discovered Italian report has the details: Y’s men were captured and interrogated. Bayonets were brandished, executions threatened.

Fortress at N tip of Augusta - glider Y landed in the sea off Augusta
The citadel at the northern tip of Augusta, guarding the bridge to the Sicilian mainland. British intelligence was told it was a prison which was capable of holding 30,000 inmates.

Glider: CG-4A Waco Y.
Glider carrying: Sub-sec of 9 Field Company Royal Engineers, 1 Air Landing Brigade, British 1 Airborne Division.
Troops’ objective: Help capture and then defend the outskirts of Syracuse [map].

Manifest

1 sjt
11 men
handcart

Sgt. Bushell J.
Cpl. Hughes J.
L/Cpl. Laughlan E.
Spr. Everton A.
Spr. Herd J.
Spr. Burdett A.
Spr. Lewis E.
Spr. Philpotts C.
Spr. McCall J.
Spr. Atkinson W.
Spr. Lloyd C.
Spr. Nash H.S.

+ 2 glider pilots

Glider Pilot’s Report

Glider allotted Landing Zone: LZ 2 [map].

Glider pilots: Sjt Pearson & Sjt Curry.

There was no official report by either glider pilot, as both men were missing at the time of debriefing.

As late as 1 August, a glider pilot back at base in Tunisia reflected ruefully in his diary on how many of his comrades had been killed in Sicily. The list included “Jimmy Pearson and George Curry”, whose glider, he believed, had been “hit by flak and blew up”.

RAF Tug Pilot’s Report

Tug: Albemarle AC, P1557, 296 Squadron, 38 Wing RAF.
Takeoff: Est. 20:00, actual 20:10, 9 July 1943. Priority 21.
Airfield: Airstrip F [map], Goubrine II, Tunisia.
Tug return: Estimated 01:21.5, 10 July 1943.

Pilot: F/L N V B Whitehouse, with W/O A G Fewster, Sgt G Foster & F/Sgt F J Wells

“Release at 2332 hrs. believed at correct height and distance.”

From the war diary of 9FCRE:

“? Nothing is known of what happened to this Glider. The Tug Pilot reports that he loosed them over the land and that flak was fairly heavy. He saw the Glider caught in a Searchlight beam and he himself headed back for Africa … last seen by rear gunner of tug and tug Pilot in a searchlight beam headed for night landing zone.”

Glider Y was officially reported as missing.

Although unknown at the time, the glider had in fact been released not near Syracuse, its destination, but near Augusta, which was miles up the coast to the north.  Other tugs and gliders had also made landfall near Augusta, all apparently blown off course by gale-force winds. The night-time navigation problems posed by the weather were then further complicated by the cape south of Syracuse [map] (the intended release zone) looking similar to the cape east of Augusta [map]. Both towns had naval ports which were heavily defended by clusters of AA batteries and searchlights.

The Troops and their Targets

Apart from the glider pilots, the men in Glider Y were a sub-section of 9 Field Company Royal Engineers (9FCRE), one of the units in British 1 Air Landing Brigade (1 ALB). 1 ALB was the force being deployed in gliders in Operation Ladbroke (Ladbroke was the codename for Syracuse town). The operation was the opening move of Operation Husky, the Allied invasion of Sicily. 1 ALB’s job was to clear and hold the road from the invasion beaches through to Syracuse, and then capture the outskirts of the town. This was so that the seaborne forces could capture the town and its vital port as quickly as possible.

The job of capturing the outskirts of Syracuse was given to the glider infantry of 1 Border Regiment (1 BR), and the engineers of Glider Y were attached to 1 BR. In particular they were to tag along with C Company of 1 BR, which was to follow the coast  into the city and capture the Italian seaplane base [map], then move into the town itself. The men of 1 BR were then meant to rapidly deploy to defend their gains against enemy counterattacks. The engineers in Glider Y had a handcart [info] full of explosives and other equipment to help with the advance and the defence. Their orders were:

1  During adv to LADBROKE to clear any mines or booby traps
.  obstructing route, and be prepared to help get tpt and
.  handcarts over canals if brs are found to be blown.
2  On arrival C Coy Assembly Area, subs-secs RE revert to Bn
.  control for such tasks as:-
.    (i) RE recce.
.   (ii) Booby trapping bldgs.
.  (iii) Assist in preparation of bldgs for defence.
.   (iv) Technical recce of LADBROKE port (only after all
.        other tasks are finished).

1 BR never reached Syracuse, because so few gliders had landed near their landing zones, with many landing in the sea [story]. The closest the glider troops came to Syracuse on the night of 9/10 July was the Ponte Grande bridge [story].

Augusta looking W across Gulf of Xifonia - glider Y came down in the sea off Augusta during Operation Ladbroke
The island of the old town of Augusta seen from across the Gulf of Xifonia, with the port’s harbour and the Sicilian mainland hazily visible beyond. Glider Y came down in the sea somewhere off Augusta, possibly in this bay, which resembled its intended release zone.

Roller-Coaster Flying

Years later glider pilot Jim Pearson, the first pilot of Glider Y, wrote an account of what happened. It appeared in the December 1989 issue of The Eagle, the magazine of the Glider Pilot Regimental Association.

He recounted how, early on in the flight to Sicily, the intercom connecting Glider Y to the tug failed, so they could not communicate. Once they reached Sicily they flew up the coast for much longer than they should have done, until finally the tug indicated he thought Pearson should release. He disagreed, but could not say so. Inexplicably the tug turned away, its station-keeping lights went out, and it dived “like a bat out of hell”, at a speed greater than the glider could cope with. Pearson and Curry struggled together with the controls, which were locking up from the speed, and were about to cast off when the tug levelled out. Pearson gave credit to the tug pilot’s courage, as the tug now flew back at low level into Italian AA fire to make another pass. The tug flashed a “release or I’ll release you” signal, so Pearson cut free (see here for the story of the debate about tugs forcibly releasing gliders).

As the glider soared up after release, a stream of tracer bullets sliced past beneath the glider, and troops in the back reported seeing a German Junkers 88 night fighter shoot past. Luckily, it did not keep up its attack. The glider was also under fire by Italian AA. Pearson does not record that the glider was hit, but regardless, it had been released too far out and it landed in the sea. The ditching was successful, and all the men got out. A sapper dived repeatedly into the mostly submerged glider and managed to retrieve a coil of rope.

Searchlights periodically crisscrossed the bay and machine guns fired on the glider, forcing the men to submerge for protection. They began paddling, trying to push the glider towards the coast. Eventually they abandoned the sinking glider and struck out for the shore, the stronger swimmers using the rope to help along the weaker ones. Finally they crawled out exhausted onto a beach, before starting to walk northwards. If they had landed where they were supposed to, this would have taken them towards Syracuse. As it was, they were headed directly away from Syracuse and away from British forces.

At dawn, despite trying to hide in scrub, they came under rifle fire. Pearson said some men threw stones (which he thought the Italians momentarily mistook for grenades), but the men of Glider Y were soon taken prisoner. It was only after their capture that they realised they had landed near Augusta, not Syracuse. Much later Pearson escaped from a train taking him to Germany. Unfortunately (from the point of view of having more details about the interrogation of the men of Glider Y), Pearson says nothing else about his imprisonment.

A Security Lapse

By 11 July, the day after their capture, the prisoners from Glider Y had been transported miles inland to the HQ of Italian XVI Corps at Piazza Armerina [map]. An intelligence officer, possibly from Italian 6 Army HQ at nearby Enna [map], was sent to interrogate them. He found 15 British airborne troops, including the 12 engineers of 9FCRE and the two glider pilots from Glider Y. This confirms that everybody on the glider survived the landing in the sea. In his report he recorded that the men had been captured by men of the Napoli Division, a regular army unit whose 76th Infantry Regiment (among others) was stationed near Augusta (see here for an account of the 76th in the battle for Augusta).

The interrogation report recorded that the glider had been hit by AA fire and was forced to ditch in the sea. It said the men were equipped with life belts inflated only by blowing, and had swum ashore, but, having no weapons, had surrendered voluntarily. It said that all the POWs had extremely high morale and that to a man they had declared they would not reply to the interrogator’s or anybody else’s questions. Some men refused to give their age, place of birth or details of their parents, although many did (presumably in the hope that news of their survival might travel quicker to their families). They all said they would be liberated within days by their own invading forces, who would surely win.

Mascara transport chit 1943 - from Glider Y survivor in Operation Ladbroke
A copy of a transport chit found on one of the POWs

All the men refused to say where the bases were that they had flown from. However one sapper of 9FCRE had failed to check his pockets properly before flying, despite injunctions that nobody should carry any identifying material into battle. The Italians found three paper chits which had survived hours of immersion in salt water by being inside the sapper’s wallet. These entitled the bearer to be transported to and from Mascara in Algeria, at one time the HQ of British 1 Airborne Division. The points of departure were Tizi and Froha, both places where 1 ALB had had camps in early summer 1943.

More tellingly, one of the chits was headed with the name of the unit: “9 Field Company R.E. (Airborne)”. The Italian report faithfully translated this, although without the “R.E.”, which had been half obliterated by a tear in the paper. The report also carefully transcribed the times the transport had departed for and returned from Mascara, although surely this was of zero significance. Especially as the airborne troops had left Algeria at the end of June, and moved hundreds of miles to Tunisia, where their current bases were.

The men were carrying 1,800 francs and 100 shillings in invasion currency. They were also found to be in possession of eight lifebelts, two cartridges, two hand grenades and, somewhat inexplicably, a “barotolo di grasso”, a tin of fat or grease.

The report appended a list of the POWs’ names, some of which got mangled in the process: one man lost his surname, while Bushell became Burchell, Laughlan became Laughton, Lewis became Louis. One final name got mangled, that of the 15th British prisoner, who was not one of the 14 men from Glider Y. He was listed as John Herrick Davis.

Mind Games and Bayonets

He was in fact Eric John Davies of the 2 South Staffords of 1 ALB, who was a lieutenant in charge of the troops in Waco Glider 12, which had also ended up in the sea off Augusta. From an archives point of view, this is an extraordinary coincidence, as there is only one contemporary, official account by an Operation Ladbroke POW of his time in prison, and it is by Davies. We now have both sides of the encounter at Piazza Armerina.

It seems Davies may have been singled out from the other survivors of Glider 12 because of his determined efforts to escape. He and his men had been picked up out of the water by an Italian launch, and locked up in the cells of the guard house in the seaplane base [map] at Augusta. Here they were stripped, searched and looted (all sides habitually removed personal valuables from prisoners). Davies almost immediately tried to escape, but failed, and then spent a few hours chained to another prisoner to prevent a recurrence. When he was transferred to Piazza Armerina he was put into solitary confinement. He described his meeting with an intelligence officer, who was presumably the same man who also interviewed the men of Glider Y:

“During the day I had been interrogated in style, was taken into a room with the windows closed so as to be in twilight. The interrogating officer sat behind a desk and tried all the usual approaches. The two sentries fixed bayonets and loaded their rifles with elaborate flourishes, and because my identity discs had been taken off me on capture he threatened to have me shot as a spy. Later he tried to bribe me and then the effect of flattery and finally that he would have me shot. I told him to go to Hell and get on with it, that I had given my name rank and number and that was all he was going to get. There was a big map on the wall, and I was able to get out of him that we were at PIAZZA ARMERINA.”

The Italians did not manage to keep Davies long. Within 3 months or so he managed to escape from the POW camp at Capua near Naples. He reached Allied lines in time to write up his report on 27 October 1943.

To see other Glider Stories, click here.

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Operation Ladbroke Sites – the Coup-de-Main Objectives

Ever wondered exactly where the Operation Ladbroke sites are in Sicily? Here’s a handy battlefield guide to the South Staffords’ coup-de-main objectives. 

Please note: it may not be safe or possible to visit some of the 
Operation Ladbroke sites. See the warning at the bottom of this 
article.
Operation Ladbroke Sites - bunker from battery gnat in il faraone restaurant
The fire control bunker of the battery codenamed Gnat behind the bar of Il Faraone restaurant near Syracuse in Sicily

Waterloo, Putney, Gnat, Mosquito, Walsall, Bilston, Dudley, Gornal. Codenames. A strange mixture of biting insects, London bridges and places in the West Midlands.

The biting insects were codenames for Italian gun batteries. Italian batteries usually consisted of gun emplacements and barracks buildings, and sometimes range finders and fire control bunkers.

The London bridges (Waterloo and Putney) were codenames for bridges over the triple waterways south of Syracuse (the Anapo, Mammaiabica and Ciane).

The other names are those of towns in the old Black Country north-west of Birmingham [map]. They were codenames for Italian strongpoints, which usually consisted of pillboxes surrounded by barbed wire. The codenames would have reminded many British airborne troops of home. Walsall (the UK town, not the Italian strongpoint) is not much over 10 miles as the crow flies from Whittington Barracks [museum], the depot of the Staffordshire Regiment. [For detailed information on the codenames of airborne operations in Sicily, see here.]

The 2nd Battalion of the South Staffordshire Regiment (2 South Staffords) was one of two battalions of gliderborne troops in 1 Air Landing Brigade of 1 Airborne Division, both deployed in Operation Ladbroke. Ladbroke was the opening move of Operation Husky, the Allied invasion of Sicily in 1943. The Staffords were given the task of seizing or destroying anything that the Italians could use to stop British seaborne forces from coming up Highway 115 and rapidly capturing the port city of Syracuse (see the Staffords’ orders here).

Waterloo

Waterloo was the codename for a triple bridge [map], the Ponte Grande (literally, the “Big Bridge”), which was the primary focus of Operation Ladbroke. It carried Highway 115 and was seen as the key to seizing Syracuse [map]. The old iron bridge across the Anapo has vanished, but its north ramp [photo] still remains beside the new bridge that replaced it. The bridge across the Mammaiabica and Ciane is in still its original place. One of the pillboxes defending the north bank is now in the grounds of the Dafne restaurant.

Putney

Putney was the codename for the railway bridge across the Mammaiabica and Ciane [map]. It is not clear if the codename applied just to the bridge, or included the railway bridge across the Anapo, or also some of the surroundings (see discussion below about Dudley and Gornal).

Bilston

Bilston was a large strongpoint [map] straddling Highway 115. When I last looked, there were still several pillboxes dotted about the area, some cut in half by road widening  [photo].

Gnat

Gnat was a battery of guns that defended Syracuse’s harbour. The site of the battery  [map] is now Il Faraone restaurant. Nothing is left of the battery except the fire control bunker, which is situated behind the restaurant’s bar.

Walsall

Walsall was a strongpoint [map] straddling Highway 115, not far south of the Ponte Grande. It was based around an inland lighthouse which is still there [photo]. For part of the story of the fighting around Walsall, see [here].

Mosquito

Mosquito was a battery of guns close to Highway 115. The battery’s site [map] is now covered with houses, and there is no trace left of the battery’s emplacements and buildings. However there are still some remains of the strongpoint at its northern end [photo].

Dudley and Gornal

‘A’ Company of the Staffords was ordered to land in LZ 3 North [map] “i) to occupy Dudley, ii) to capture Gornal, iii) to establish all round protection in area Putney”. I have found no evidence as to what or where Dudley and Gornal were. Presumably they were near LZ 3 North and also Putney (see above). One of them may have been the strongpoint in the area between the two railway bridges [map]. If any readers know of any original 1943 documents that have more specific information on Dudley and Gornal, or which clarify the exact scope of Putney, do please leave a reply below.

Update: Sean Phillips (see below) has found Dudley marked on a map. While not especially reliable, it is good enough to identify Dudley as probably the strongpoint between the railway bridges.

.

Warning: the mention in this article of these Operation Ladbroke sites and their remains is not an indication that it is safe or possible to visit them. Some are next to busy roads, some are next to railway lines, some are next to cliffs, some are next to steep banks above deep water, some are in a dangerous condition, some are now private property, some remain the property of the state. None has been set up as a tourist attraction. Readers should satisfy themselves that it is safe and allowable before visiting one, and do so at their own risk. Also, the information in this article may be out of date. See our Friendly Disclaimer and our Terms of Use.

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Italian Cavalry Attack British Glider Troops on the Ponte Grande Bridge?

The source was impeccable: the BBC. The news was incredible: Italian cavalry had charged British airborne troops holding the Ponte Grande bridge. In the middle of WW2, could it possibly be true?

American paratroopers in Sicily with horse, perhaps taken from Italian cavalry.
American soldiers of 82 Airborne Division march under Sicily’s scorching sun, 11 July 1943. They can be identified as paratroopers by their armbands and baggy uniforms. One lucky man rides a horse, perhaps taken from Italian cavalry.

The thunder of hooves, clods of earth flying, weapons flashing in the sun, men screaming battle cries, the shrieks of stricken horses. It’s not a scene from the battles of Agincourt or Waterloo, but from the battle for Sicily in World War 2.

According to a divisional news-sheet produced by the British 1 Airborne Division in July 1943, the BBC had broadcast the following story:

“Airborne troops were landed on a wide area owing to a strong wind. First objective captured, but, owing to shortage of men and expenditure of ammunition, Airborne troops could not continue to hold bridge owing to strong enemy pressure including a cavalry charge. Bridge later retaken intact by 17 Bde and Airborne troops rescued.”

The bridge mentioned above was the Ponte Grande bridge [map] just south of Syracuse [map] in Sicily. The bridge was the primary objective of British Operation Ladbroke, which was the opening airborne assault of Operation Husky. Husky was the codename for the invasion of Sicily by both British and American forces, each in their own sector of the island. The British dropped glider troops in their sector, and the Americans dropped paratroopers in theirs.

The Ponte Grande bridge was seized and held for many hours by about 80 British glider troops from 1 Airborne Division. The Italians recaptured the bridge, but it was then in turn recaptured by British seaborne forces. The relieving troops did indeed come from 17 Infantry Brigade. These facts are not in question.

What is astonishing is mention of an Italian cavalry charge. No other official source mentions a cavalry charge in Operation Ladbroke, and no personal account does either, memorable though such a thing would have been. It also seems highly improbable. The advent of the machine gun had long since made cavalry charges suicidal affairs. Even in their heyday cavalry charges were only truly effective against infantry loosely formed out in the open, where the shock and mobility of mounted men broke formations and slaughtered infantrymen piecemeal.

But the British glider troops were dug in behind steep embankments, with a river at their backs. Any Italian cavalry that managed to survive long enough to reach the river would have had no shock impact and no room to manoeuvre, and would have been cut down. Also, the British had captured a pillbox, and sabres are not known for their efficacy against concrete.

Clearly there was no Italian cavalry charge as described in the broadcast. So how did the BBC come to report a charge at the Ponte Grande? And if there was no cavalry charge at the bridge, then was there a charge against airborne troops somewhere else in Sicily?

Italian Sources

Italian accounts are clear: there was indeed a cavalry attack against Allied troops, however foolhardy and improbable that seems. We have two primary sources. The first is the official report of General Guzzoni, commander of the Italian 6 Army, who was head of all the Italian armed forces in Sicily. Speaking of US troops that had penetrated inland from beaches in the American sector of the invasion, he wrote:

“The commanding officer of XII Corps ordered a mobile group, … comprised of a Blackshirt battalion and a squadron of cavalry, to counterattack in support of some strongpoints that had been surrounded but were holding out.

The action could not have the desired effect, given that the enemy had already landed jeeps and light tanks, against which they had no effective weapons.”

We also have a personal account from a survivor of the Italian cavalry unit. He was the commanding officer of one of its squadrons:

“On 10 July 1943 I received orders from my group commander: 1) To make contact with the enemy in the plain of Licata to identify their position, strength and activity; 2) To determine the precise location of a battalion of Blackshirts that were part of our battle group. I set out with my squadron and made contact with the enemy force and … fulfilled my orders … Making contact with the Blackshirt battalion was now vitally important to the success of our operations, but I did not think I needed the whole squadron … so I personally took command of the search with ten cavalrymen … and set off in the direction where I supposed the Blackshirts were. Soon we approached a copse of trees and unexpectedly came under intense enemy machine gun fire from it. Rapidly reviewing the situation I saw that turning back was absolutely impossible, as there was no cover anywhere. So I decided to eliminate the machine gun and I ordered the charge. I got as far as a few meters from the trees when my horse, severely wounded, fell. I lost my helmet and was knocked unconscious … When I regained my senses I found I was in enemy hands … I assume that most of the ten men in my patrol were killed.”

Both of these accounts tally in placing the action near Licata [map] in the American sector of the invasion. The personal account also makes it clear that the charge was not a deliberate and planned piece of military tactics, but an impulsive and desperate move by men trapped in an ambush.

To those who subscribe to a rigid code of military honour, the charge may well seem heroic. Many Italian soldiers that day, all over the invasion zone, fled or surrendered when under no particular threat at all. By contrast, this cavalry charge is an instance of Italian soldiers, caught in a hopeless situation, who did not surrender, despite facing almost certain death. To a modern civilian sensibility, however, it may seem a pointless waste, when surrender under the circumstances would have been equally honourable, and would have left no widows and orphans.

Chinese Whispers

So how did this Italian cavalry charge against American forces come to be described as a charge against British glider troops at the Ponte Grande? The answer may be that it was caused by a global instance of Chinese Whispers. Press reports of the time seem to show an incremental evolution of the story.

Although it was in no way his fault, it began with the reports of Roderick MacDonald [photo]. MacDonald was a dashing and intrepid Australian war reporter, who worked for the Sydney Morning Herald. He was the only newspaper journalist who landed with the glider troops in Operation Ladbroke. He reached the Ponte Grande, witnessed the fighting, and was captured when the Italians retook the bridge. He was later rescued by a British patrol. He quickly wrote up his experiences, and special efforts were made to get his dispatch sent out of Sicily for publication. His work was pooled, and his dramatic story of the fight for the bridge made headlines all around the world.

Several newspapers then added a short round-up of news from other sources or other reporters onto the end of MacDonald’s pieces. Sometimes it was not immediately clear that the additional pieces were not by MacDonald. Even if the reader deduced they were not by MacDonald, the pieces were adjacent, which made the additional reporting seem to be about the Ponte Grande.

For example, the Sydney Morning Herald on 14 July 1943 tacked the following onto the end of a MacDonald report under the headline “BECAME SCATTERED”:

“Allied parachute and airborne troops became scattered in the high wind, and were unable to attack their objectives in full strength. They captured them, but could not hold them for long. Later, they contacted Allied infantry and regained their objectives.

One unit was charged by a regiment of cavalry, but rallied, and routed men and horses.

One group of paratroops is believed to have been dropped near Licata to prevent quick reinforcement of the area.”

It is possible that all three paragraphs above are about the US paratroopers who landed inland from the American beaches, but only the last paragraph is specific. Certainly both US paras and British gliders were “scattered in the high wind”. The Italian cavalry may well have been ambushed by just such a group, as the American paratroopers were so scattered that they turned up in the most unexpected places. It is worth noting that glider soldiers were not paratroopers, as they arrived by glider, not by parachute, although both were airborne.

Grim Night Action

Another newspaper printed the following at the end of a piece headlined “GRIM NIGHT ACTION”:

“Throughout the night before the land invasion I could hear grim little actions going on in the darkness as units fought toward their rendezvous. Blockhouses were captured, barracks shot up, patrols machinegunned and wiped out, and most of the area SE of the tip of the island, on which seaborne forces landed later, was thrown into panic by these deadly attacks.

Exchange Telegraph’s Algiers correspondent says that in the first battle ever fought between a parachute unit and horse cavalry the parachutists, who were members of a famous British unit, beat the Italian cavalry, who attacked bravely. The strong wind scattered the parachutists as they landed, but they established contact with troops who landed at dawn, and later regained their objective.”

The “I” of the first paragraph is MacDonald. But only readers who noted that MacDonald was not the Exchange Telegraph’s Algiers correspondent (who presumably never left Algiers) would know that the second paragraph did not come from MacDonald’s eye-witness account. So how did “a famous British unit” come to be involved in an American encounter? Presumably the closeness on newspaper pages of the Licata and Ponte Grande stories led them to become entwined in the mind of some reporters and editors. Perhaps there was an equally confusing press release.

A perfect example of this ambiguity appeared in yet another newspaper under the headline “PARATROOPS v. CAVALRY”:

“A famous paratroop unit in Sicily routed a unit of horse cavalry. It happened on Saturday, and it was the first time such a battle had ever been fought. The paratroops and gliders were above their objective on Friday night when a strong wind scattered them all over the place. They reached their objective, but were driven off. They managed to establish contact with invading troops when they landed at dawn on Saturday. The paratroops regained their objective. Then they were charged by a unit of horse cavalrymen which they repulsed.”

The evolution of this telling is a remarkable story of a tale repeatedly mis-told. It’s nowhere near as remarkable, however, as the fact that, in the middle of a modern war, a group of Italian cavalry mounted a charge against American paratroopers armed with automatic weapons.

For other stories about Operation Ladbroke, see here.

Posted in All Posts, Archive Documents, Operation Ladbroke - Sicily 1943, Veterans' accounts | Tagged , , , , , , | 8 Comments

The Story of Glider 52 & Gozo in Operation Ladbroke

Waco glider 52 had one of the more unusual stories of navigation failure in Operation Ladbroke. Uniquely, it landed on the tiny island of Gozo.

Glider: CG-4A Waco 52, serial 245690.
Glider carrying: Half a platoon of E Company, 2 South Staffords.
Troops’ objective: Walsall strongpoint [story].

Waco-glider-landing-at-Ponte-Olivo-Sicily-1943-from-www_operation-ladbroke_com
A Waco coming in to land on an airfield runway. This is Ponte Olivo airfield, Sicily, in late 1943.

Manifest

1 Nursing Orderly
15 ORs E Coy
3200 lbs

Cpl Merchant G
Cpl Leadbetter J
Cpl Maddocks W
L/c Cort E
L/c Payling E
Pte Hancock R
Pte Rowle L
Pte Roberts J
Pte Dean B
Pte Lawrence H
Pte Peachey G
Pte Renwick J
Pte King W
Pte Owen J
Sgt Charlton A
Pte Cattell

Glider Pilot’s Report

Glider allotted Landing Zone: LZ 1 [map].

Glider pilots: Sjt Atwell & Sjt Wakefield.

“Tug got lost and never located release area. Brought glider back to MALTA, where glider made successful landing.”

This seems to be using the name “Malta” loosely to include its satellite island, Gozo, where Glider 52 in fact landed. It was one of only four gliders that returned with their tug planes after having gone all the way to Sicily first. Of the other three, one landed in Malta’s main island and two went all the way back to North Africa.

USAAF Tug Pilot’s Report

Tug: C-47, 41-18334, 28 Squadron, 60 Troop Carrier Group, 51 Troop Carrier Wing USAAF. 4th aircraft in element 5.
Takeoff: Between 18:48 and 19:15 hrs, from Airstrip B, El Djem No. 1 [map], Tunisia. Priority 27.
Tug returned: 14:30, 10 July 1943.

Pilot: 1st Lt Luke P Norris Jr
Co-pilot: 1st Lt Willis T Brown
Aer Engr: S/Sgt Mike (NMI) Sovich
Rad Oper: Pfc William A Carter

Norris “became lost and returned his glider to Gozo”.

“Lost formation soon after leaving RP. Picked up another formation about 8 minutes before scheduled time to be at Malta. Last heading 345° going toward S/L and AA, made turn to get into position and then became completely lost. Climbed to 3000 ft and went over convoy. Got QT from Malta and landed at Gozo. Had trouble in keeping out of prop wash and keeping glider at full tow length. Landed at Gozo approx. 0100 hours and stayed rest of night. In taking off the right wheel broke off the glider necessitating leaving it there. Glider personnel flown back to “B” strip, landing at 14:30 hours, 10 July, 1943.”

This report, from a USAAF document, is strange in several ways. The S/L and AA (searchlights and anti-aircraft fire) showed the pilot where the coast of Sicily was, so there was no doubt about that at least. Rather than return to base still towing their gliders, most pilots released them towards Sicily. Unfortunately, many did not do this in the right place, and their gliders landed in the sea [story]. Many men drowned [story]. In that respect, it was lucky for the men in Glider 52 that they avoided this fate.

It is also unclear who is talking. Most of it sounds like the tug pilot, but only the glider pilot could talk about keeping out of the tug’s prop wash and keeping the rope at full length.

It is also unclear if the glider released and landed itself, or was towed in to a landing. The latter seems dangerous and unnecessary, and so extremely unlikely, but the comments about prop wash and rope length have been inserted between two statements about landing at Gozo, as if they applied to the act of landing.

The tug plane towing Glider 52 was the fourth plane in a four-plane “element”, and usually only the lead plane in an element had a navigator. This is why it needed to join another formation (element) as soon as it had lost its own, and may help explain why it became so lost.

E Company, 2 South Staffords

The primary role of the 2nd battalion of the South Staffords in Operation Ladbroke was to seize bridges and knock out strongpoints, in order to clear the way for the other air landing battalion, 1 Border Regiment. The Border men were then to pass through and take the outskirts of Syracuse, in turn clearing the way for seaborne forces to take the city.

The Staffords’ preliminary objectives included two bridges, a gun battery and two strongpoints, so it made sense to have one unit assigned to each of these five targets. The battalion had only four rifle companies, A to D, so a temporary E Company was formed from the battalion’s Reconnaissance Platoon  and most of H Company, the Support Company. H Company men normally manned the battalion’s 6 pounder anti-tank guns and Vickers heavy machine guns, but only two of the 6 pounders were being sent to Sicily, so the remaining crewmen were to act as ordinary infantry in the assault.

Walsall strongpoint, E Company’s objective, was a roadblock with pillboxes and a tall tower [map] that dominated a road junction and the approach to the vital Ponte Grande bridge. Taking it and holding it was E Company’s only task. Unfortunately, only three of the seven Waco gliders carrying E Company landed in Sicily. One of the three was burned up by a phosphorus grenade, another crash landed far away, and only one reached the area of the LZ, crashing through a wall. Understandably, Walsall was not taken until seaborne forces reached it later in the day. [story]

Edgar Payling

Lance-corporal Edgar Payling was one of the E Company men in Glider 52. At the start of the war he was in the artillery branch of the Territorial Army and was posted to an AA unit in the UK. Presumably bored with this duty, he volunteered to become a glider pilot, one of the most dangerous jobs in the Army. He was rejected because his eyesight was not good enough. Instead in October 1942 he was transferred to the glider-borne South Staffords. He missed out on the assault landing in Sicily because of the return to Gozo, but he later landed and fought at Arnhem, where he was wounded and captured by the Germans.

Edgar Payling photographed while serving in the UK before joining the South Staffords. He flew in Glider 52 in Operation Ladbroke
Edgar Payling photographed while serving in the UK before joining the South Staffords
A photocopy of part of the German records for Edgar Payling as a PoW, after his capture at Arnhem. He flew in Glider 52 in Operation Ladbroke
A photocopy of German records for Edgar Payling as a PoW, after his capture at Arnhem

The Airfield on Gozo

Ta Lambert (Xewkija) Airfield on Gozo was one of the wonders of the war, and it was a “one day wonder” at that [map]. It was constructed at no notice in less than two weeks by American engineers, and was in service for less than two months during June to August 1943.

Its creation reflected one of the defining constraints for the invasion of Sicily – the short range of Allied fighters. Malta, with several airfields, was the closest island in Allied hands, only about 50 miles from Sicily. Even so, the invasion plans were limited to the south east corner, in order to keep fighters overhead as much as possible. It was feared that the Axis air forces were the greatest threat to the Allied shipping anchored like sitting ducks off the coast. If they sank enough ships, the whole invasion would fail.

For a small island, Malta was full to capacity with airfields, and these were full to capacity with squadrons taking part in the invasion. It was primarily a British base. The smaller island of Gozo, off Malta’s north-west shore, had no airfields at all, so the Americans decided to build one there, to provide additional fighter cover over the beaches. Additional American squadrons, flying British Spitfires from Gozo, provided welcome reinforcements. As soon as the invasion was over, the airfield ceased to have a purpose.

For Glider 52, the airfield on Gozo was a useful emergency airstrip. With a call sign of “Bubbles”, the airfield had a radio DF (direction finding) beacon. This enabled the tug to head directly for it, even without a navigator, in the dark and across the featureless sea. There was also a visual aid during the hours of darkness when the tugs might be in the vicinity:

“Searchlight will be located on Southeastern end of GOZO for operation on night D minus 1 and D. Light will operate 2230 hours to 0005 hours on D minus 1 and will be trained at an angle of 30° pointing westward so as to be more easily picked up and at the same time not illuminate low flying aircraft approaching south of west.”

Further information about the airfield in Gozo can be found [here] and [here].

 For other in-depth stories about individual gliders in Operation Ladbroke, click here.

With thanks to Bryan Payling for information about his father.

Posted in All Posts, Glider Stories, Operation Ladbroke - Sicily 1943 | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

A US glider trooper in Operation Varsity – John Kormann’s legacy

On the anniversary of Operation Varsity, an extraordinary gathering in a local restaurant in honour of US glider trooper John Kormann brought back memories, and evoked the sights and sounds of battle.

Operation Varsity, the Allied airborne drop across the Rhine, 24 March 1945:

German children in a farmyard just before Operation Varsity.
German children in a farmyard just before Operation Varsity. Frau Busch as a child, with her brother.

First there was a “fürchterliche Kanonade”, a terrifying artillery barrage, a “Trommelfeuer” so intense and continuous that the detonations ran together like a drum roll. Thousands of guns on the other side of the river Rhine were sending their high explosive shells into every corner of the German farmland along its banks. In the middle of this inferno the RAF blasted apart the nearby town of Wesel, dropping massive bombs that made the earth shake. Suddenly the shelling stopped, and the stillness was almost more shocking than the uproar. It was a relief, but it also meant that heavily armed enemy soldiers were about to swarm through the fields and farms, killing as they came.

For the German children quaking in the root cellars of the farms, praying each moment that it was not to be their last, the bombardment and the horrors it brought in its wake were the culmination of months of helpless fear and anxiety. At night they went to bed fully clothed, their ears attuned to the sound of aero engines or distant sirens, in case they had to leap up and stumble half asleep to the shelter. They heard the bellows and screams of cattle burning to death, tethered in their stalls, when an incendiary bomb hit the stable. On their way to school they threw themselves flat in the mud when the much-feared “Jabos”, Allied fighter bombers, roared low over the fields.

Operation Varsity John Kormann farm
The farm where John Kormann heeded his mother’s plea.

Now the barrage was over. Now the enemy soldiers, American and British, would come. Downstairs, German women and children and foreign forced labourers were packed into the root cellars. Upstairs, German soldiers, forcibly billeted in the farms, had turned them into strongpoints. They fully expected an airborne assault, and all around the strongpoints the Germans had placed light and heavy “Flak” anti-aircraft guns. The Allied “Jabos” had been sent to destroy these guns, and the Allied artillery had attempted to smash them, but most of the guns survived.

In the stillness that followed the barrage, a new sound was heard. The drone of thousands of aircraft grew from a hum into a roar. Windows and doors began to rattle. Soon all hell broke loose, a “ganze Shiesserei”, a cacophony of shooting, the clatter of hundreds of anti-aircraft cannons firing at the transport planes and gliders. The aircraft were flying low and slow straight into the sights of the guns, and soon many were disintegrating in mid air, or engulfed in flame, or arcing out of control towards the ground.

Despite this, thousands upon thousands of enemy soldiers floated down on parachutes, or spilled out of gliders that had reached the ground. They quickly assembled and began to overwhelm the “Flak” emplacements and the fortified farms.

John Kormann 17 Airborne
John Kormann

Among the enemy soldiers was American glider trooper Private John Kormann, a runner (messenger) with 517th Airborne Signal Company of the US 17th Airborne Division. Like many Americans, he was the child of immigrants, and his mother was German. Shortly before Operation Varsity his mother had written to him and reminded him that German soldiers had mothers that loved and prayed for them, as she did for him, and she asked him to be merciful.

During the operation Kormann first endured a terrifying descent under fire in a Waco glider carrying a jeep. The glider came to a stop when it crashed into a tree. For a while he and the men with him did not know where they were, and more than once they came under fire, but later Kormann tagged along with a group of US paratroopers.

He described what happened next in his book “Echoes of a Distant Clarion”:

‘Departing then to seek my own group, I passed close to the last house along the road. Pausing, I heard sounds coming from a storm cellar. I took a grenade I wore on my shoulder strap and approached the cellar trap door. Cautiously lifting the door slightly, while keeping myself out of the line of fire, I was prepared to toss in the grenade, when I remembered my mother’s letter and her plea, “be merciful”. Instead, I hesitated and then shouted down in German, “Haende hoch! Sofort heraus!” There was no response. I shouted out again. This time there was stirring and then the first person emerged. I was stunned to see an elderly grandmother emerge, then another woman, then four or five little children, until a total of fourteen women and children stood before me. I trembled at what I might have done. To this day, I still shudder at the burden that would have been placed on my life had I not received my blessed mother’s letter.’

John Kormann Memorial

The newly unveiled plaque to John Kormann's actions in Operation Varsity
The newly unveiled plaque in memory of John Kormann’s actions in Operation Varsity.

On 24 March 2017, on the 72nd anniversary of Operation Varsity, a plaque was unveiled to the memory of John Kormann, and in particular to his act of humanity. The place, near Hamminkeln, is in the corner of a narrow country lane next to the site of the farm where it happened, although  the farm has since been demolished.

In the last weeks of his life in 2015, John Kormann asked his daughter Andrea Kormann Lowe to stand in for him at the 70th anniversary of Operation Varsity in Germany. It weighed on him that he had never found the farm or the survivors. Dutch tour guide Jos Bex  worked urgently and succeeded in identifying the site of the old farm.  A photo of the old farm reached Kormann the night before he died, and a year later Andrea succeeded in finding survivors.

The unveiling of the plaque was a happy closure for his daughter, marking the end of an extraordinary journey to find the places and meet the people of Operation Varsity. As both the American and German flags fluttered in the cool spring breeze, their halyards clinking against the poles, there were tears of sorrow, tears of pride and tears of joy.

For among the crowd that morning were not just Americans, but also many Germans, including many schoolchildren. They were there because Andrea Kormann Lowe has made it her mission, in the spirit of her father’s humanity, to involve local people in the acts of community and remembering. Everybody at the ceremony was invited along afterwards to a nearby restaurant, Haus Blumenkamp, for lunch, and to listen to Frau Busch tell her story. Frau Busch was a child at the time of Operation Varsity, and she and her family hid in the root cellar of their farm during the fighting, just like those in John Kormann’s story. She projected pictures of the farm, and of the people who lived on it during the war. Many were foreign forced labourers who had been assigned to the farm, whom she was very fond of, and who became part of the family despite their status.

Frau Busch Operation Varsity presentation
Frau Busch telling her story with a picture of her parents’ farmhouse in the background.

Her talk, ably translated by her son-in-law Dr Andreas Wodarz, gave a remarkable insight into what life was like for those who lived here when the Allied airborne troops dropped into their fields and burst into their farms. Even more remarkable was what happened next in the restaurant. Other people who had been children here during the war began to speak up.

For most it was the first time they had discussed their experiences in public, but the presence of the schoolchildren in the audience lent new significance to what they had to say. Each new speaker gave courage to others to speak up as well, and soon the recollections began pouring out. Some of their memories have been included in the opening paragraphs above, but there were many other stories. One woman held up her hand to show a missing finger, shot off that day 72 years ago. An old man remembered seeing a black US trooper, the first black man he had ever seen. Someone remembered children playing with a discarded “Panzerfaust”, a highly dangerous hand-held anti-tank weapon.

Frau Busch described the pitiful lowing of cows, which had not been milked for two days during the fighting. American airborne troopers who had been raised on farms pitched in to help. The welcome glut of milk was then heated, while army rations were broken open. Chocolate was shaved into the milk, and instant coffee added. The children thought it was the most delicious thing they had ever tasted, and they have continued to make the drink ever since. It may have seemed especially delicious at the time, given the daily diet described by another speaker: “Kartoffelsuppe, Kartoffelsuppe, Kartoffelsuppe” (potato soup, potato soup …).

Frau Busch remembered being amazed at the sight of hundreds of variously coloured parachutes draped on the trees and lying in the fields, that had not been there when she went into the cellar. Local families reused the silk and the cords for years afterwards. Another woman told the story of a heavily pregnant woman who went into labour during the battle. Her sister bravely approached American troops shouting a pidgin mixture of English and German: “Baby kommt! Baby kommt!”

Kormann farmouse photo root cellar doors Operation Varsity
A blow-up of the picture of the farm, with an arrow pointing to the root cellar doors. These are the doors Kormann gingerly opened while holding his grenade.

Not least of the speakers was an old man who was one of the children spared by John Kormann. For Kormann the incident had been a stand-out moment of clarity that coloured the rest of his life. For the boy, it was only one passing moment in a day marked by many moments of fear and uncertainty. He did not remember Kormann, but he remembered  leaving the root cellar with the others and then being assembled outside while they were questioned and checked for weapons. Suddenly shooting broke out all around and they were hustled back into the cellar.

This re-eruption of fighting might have happened because the battle in Operation Varsity, as in many airborne drops, was particularly confused. Many British and American airborne units were dropped in the wrong place. They then spent hours criss-crossing the battlefield in every direction trying to reach their objectives. Many were deliberately dropped right on top of the scattered German positions. This meant they were everywhere on the battlefield, so German units were also criss-crossing the area attacking them, or looking for better defensive positions or for a way to escape the cauldron. Shooting could break out at any time, from any direction, as groups encountered each other and clashed.

When the shooting around the farm subsided, the boy and his group were again taken out of the cellar and again kept standing outside, until it happened again, and they were once again shoved back into shelter. And so the day went for the German children, with alternating fear and hope punctuated by horrors such as seeing the dead and wounded of both sides.

I felt privileged to be present at the plaque unveiling ceremony, but even more privileged to hear these first-hand accounts that so brought to life a historic day. Andrea Kormann Lowe performed wonders in organising both events, and in bringing together young and old, and former foes, to hear each others’ points of view. The memory of her father’s humanity could not have been more perfectly honoured.

Andrea Kormann Lowe has asked me to say that she could not have organised the memorial and the day without the inestimable help of Dr Andreas Wodarz and Jos Bex.
John Kormann’s autobiography “Echoes of a Distant Clarion: Recollections of a Diplomat and Soldier” was published by New Academia Publishing in 2007. The book can be bought on Amazon in the UK and the USA and elsewhere in the world.
The Scions of the 17th Airborne Division, Inc. is a non-profit organization founded in 2011 by 17th veterans for the children and relatives of anyone who served in the 17th Airborne Division during WW II, and for those interested in its history.  Andrea Kormann Lowe commented: “The 17th Airborne Division was deactivated in September 1945.  The Scions of the 17th Airborne Division, Inc. aims to honor the troopers of the 17th, and to keep its history alive, particularly as there are no longer serving soldiers, and sadly, soon no 17th Airborne soldiers at all.  My strong hope is that the ‘Be Merciful’ plaque will succeed in making the war memorable for a younger generation.”

For other stories about Operation Varsity, see [here].

Since this article was written, a local man, Olaf Prinz, has bought the disused electricity transformer tower next to the Kormann plaque, and has converted it into an exhibition space where he has mementoes of Operation Varsity. For more information, and to visit, see [here].

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Chatterton vs Hopkinson – the Facts

There is a story about Lt Col Chatterton and Maj Gen Hopkinson and the genesis of Operation Ladbroke that is so pervasive that it has almost become gospel. Certainly it seems to go completely unchallenged. But there is no evidence for it.

Syracuse from the air. Hopkinson was ordered by Montgomery to use his glider forces to help capture the city using a glider assault in Operation Ladbroke.. (C) Aurora Publishing
What all the fuss was about. Operation Ladbroke was designed to facilitate the capture of Syracuse in Sicily. Montgomery wanted the port city so he could use its magnificent harbour to land reinforcements and supplies before enemy counter-attacks could throw his forces back into the sea.

The story is told by George Chatterton himself, once the commander of the Glider Pilot Regiment (GPR), about his former boss, George Hopkinson, commander of 1 Airborne Division (1 AD). The story describes a meeting in 1943 between the two men at which nobody else was present.

The story appears in Chatterton’s book, “The Wings of Pegasus”. It was published in 1962, by which time Hopkinson had been dead nearly 20 years. He was killed in Italy leading his airborne troops from the front, only a few months after the incident described in Chatterton’s story took place. He was in no position to contradict anything Chatterton might have to say.

In the book, Chatterton describes how on 1 April 1943 Hopkinson revealed to him a plan to land gliders full of troops near the port city of Syracuse in Sicily. This was Operation Ladbroke. It was to be a night landing and the opening move of Operation Husky, the Allied invasion of Sicily in July 1943. Hopkinson asked him for his opinion. Chatterton says he was deeply unhappy at what he saw and heard. He began to protest, but was threatened with dismissal if he did not approve.

Claims

In the course of this story Chatterton makes various other allegations and claims:

  1. Hopkinson was absent from the area around Mascara in Algeria, where the airborne forces were concentrating: “there had been no sign of [him] for weeks!” (Chatterton’s exclamation mark). The implication, especially in light of the next point, seems to be that Hopkinson should have been seen, that he knew this, and that he was derelict in his duty.
  2. Hopkinson was deliberately avoiding Lieutenant General Browning. Browning was the commanding officer (CO) of 1 AD before Hopkinson, and was now the adviser on airborne affairs to General Eisenhower, the Allied Commander in Chief. Browning “had waited in North Africa for as long as he was allowed, in order to discuss the impending operation with Hopkinson, but the latter had kept out of his way.”
  3. Hopkinson had “pulled a fast one on General Browning” by avoiding him, was “up to” something, and “had committed the Glider Force to something”. The implication seems to be that Browning would have stopped it had he known.
  4. Hopkinson revealed for the first time to Chatterton that his glider pilots (GPs) would be flying American Waco gliders instead of British Horsa gliders. Hopkinson apparently did not care that the pilots, currently languishing in a disused POW camp at Tizi [map] near Mascara in Algeria, had no training on the Waco.
  5. Chatterton “felt sure” that Hopkinson had “‘sold'” (Chatterton’s quotation marks) the idea to General Montgomery, “with the best salesman’s manner”. Montgomery was in charge of the British task force in the invasion. The implication seems to be that Montgomery was lied to, and bamboozled by a salesman’s smoke and mirrors.
  6. Montgomery “knew even less than Hopkinson of the required conditions for success”. Montgomery would not have known (presumably through deliberately being kept in the dark) of the “muddled background” of the glider plan, or the “inadequacy of the training facilities, or whether the pilots were efficient”. He was given the idea and took it “solely on the advice of an amateur pilot” (Hopkinson). Montgomery “agreed” to use the glider troops regardless of the risks.
  7. Hopkinson was “bent on getting his force in action”, and “the airborne troops had to be used at all costs, otherwise they might never be used at all”.
  8. During the meeting Chatterton thought the plan was “mad”, “astounding”, “frightening”. He was horrified, incredulous. In particular, aerial photographs of the landing zones (LZs) showed they were “rock-strewn, with cliffs, and […] the fields had stone walls”.  He said to Hopkinson that the landing place looked “pretty stiff”, and it was this remark that made Hopkinson lose his temper and threaten him.

Before making all these claims, Chatterton sets the scene in his book by saying that headquarters (HQ) had no idea what they were doing regarding the GPR, and there was “a great gulf” between those in authority and him regarding “our proper role in battle”, “but no effort of mine succeeded in bringing even a glimmer of light into their darkness”. This is strong stuff.

Suspicious

Before examining these claims, mainly by using documents from the time, there are reasons to be immediately dubious about Chatterton’s story. His book is a work of autobiography, and autobiographies tend, quite reasonably, to be self-justifying. Also, it’s a great story, strongly worded and full of high drama, which makes it very appealing and retellable, but it also makes it suspicious. None of these things in itself means that Chatterton is wrong, but they do ring alarm bells.

Then there’s the prejudicial tone of the story. Throughout it Chatterton jumps to conclusions and presumes Hopkinson’s guilt without evidence, or makes assumptions which he then treats as facts. And that is when he is not stating as facts things that are provably wrong.

Then there’s the pejorative use of double-edged praise. He describes Hopkinson as “an amusing little man”. This echoes the contemporary phrase “horrible little man”, and it is not clear if we are meant to be laughing at Hopkinson for his short stature, or with him for his wittiness. Given that the sentence continues by remarking on Hopkinson’s ambition, and on his delight in being made a general, it seems the phrase was not kindly intended.

Later Chatterton describes Hopkinson as “popular”, but this is in the same sentence as a repetition of the accusation that he had “sold” Montgomery. It seems we are meant to view Hopkinson’s popularity as yet another one of his unfortunate personality traits. Obviously, however, neither being short nor being popular are reasons to automatically condemn somebody.

Finally, the story makes little sense. Chatterton says Hopkinson asked him to study the plan so that he could get his thoughts on it. Why would Hopkinson have asked him all the way from Tizi to Algiers to ask his opinion, if he intended to immediately stifle it with a threat? By his own account Chatterton admits that, after the threat, “we continued to discuss the pros and cons”. It seems from this that Hopkinson was alive to the risks and objections, and not averse to talking about them. This discrepancy in the story is suspicious, even without any external evidence.

Evidence

But we have a great deal of external evidence, especially regarding the dates when the protagonists were in various places. Three places in particular form part of the story, although there were many HQs all along the North African coast that were involved in planning Operation Husky. First, Force 141, the senior Allied planning HQ for the entire invasion, was at Algiers [map], on the coast of Algeria. Second, 1 AD’s planning HQ for the airborne operations was based inland at the town of Mascara [map], on the other side of the Atlas Mountains. Finally, Montgomery ‘s planning HQ for the British task force was hundreds of miles away in Cairo [map] in Egypt.

Starting with Chatterton, we know that he did not arrive in Algeria until near the end of April. He left camp in the UK with 279 men of the GPR on 12 April. They sailed from the Clyde [map], disembarked in Oran [map] and arrived at the Tizi camp on 23 April. So he cannot have been summoned from Tizi to a meeting in Algiers on 1 April. Even he knew this once, although by the time he wrote his book he seems to have forgotten it. Some ten years previously, in an article written for a magazine, he had said the meeting date was 25 April. This date is much more likely than 1 April, although as we shall see it still may not be correct.

As for Hopkinson’s movements, we know that he flew from the UK to Algiers on 6 March. His mission was to help the planners consider the size & composition of the airborne forces to be used in Husky. This was being discussed even then by the Chiefs of Staff in both London and Washington DC. At that point Browning was still CO of 1 AD, and Hopkinson was his deputy. Hopkinson had been sent to North Africa, rather than Browning, because Browning had been injured in a glider landing, and was off work for some weeks. Hopkinson was accompanied by Wing Commander Barton of 38 Wing RAF, the unit that towed British gliders and dropped British paratroopers. The officers of 38 Wing were considered experts on the use of airborne troops (inasmuch as anybody was, since all of the airborne officers were novices, including Chatterton).

Group Captain Norman, 38 Wing’s CO, along with several other officers from the RAF and 1 AD, including Browning, had visited North Africa in late December 1942 to analyse the recent airborne operations of Operation Torch, the Allied invasion of Morocco and Algeria. Afterwards Norman produced various reports outlining recommendations and doctrine for the use of airborne troops, including gliders. So it was not as if 1 AD and 38 Wing were entirely ignorant on the subject. Nor was Hopkinson alone, and getting away with going rogue without anybody chaperoning him, as Chatterton implied in his book.

Hopkinson left Africa on 20 March, announcing his return to the UK with a signal that ended “Please keep Browning informed”. On 24 March in the UK, Browning had a long meeting with both Hopkinson and Barton to hear about their trip, and to prepare for his own. A few days later Browning left for North Africa to observe, study, plan and advise, as was presumably originally intended when he sent Hopkinson in his stead. Again Browning was also accompanied by expert officers of both 1 AD and 38 Wing. Meanwhile Hopkinson stayed in the UK in charge of 1 AD, although he did not formally become its CO until 6 May.

Browning flew all around North Africa, and to what is now Israel, in his role as senior airborne officer and adviser. On 26 or 27 April (sources differ) Hopkinson arrived in Algiers from the UK. He was almost immediately briefed by Browning, who put him in the picture on decisions that had been taken in his absence. Browning and Norman then returned to the UK on 1 May. In Browning’s case it was to go on leave. He spent it with his wife, the author Daphne du Maurier, at their home in Fowey in Cornwall. On 18 May he was summoned to return to North Africa. By this time the details of Operation Ladbroke were known to the senior officers in 1 AD, and so the meeting between Chatterton and Hopkinson must have happened before then.

Demolished

All of these facts demolish Chatterton’s allegation that Hopkinson had been sneakily avoiding Browning. During most of this time, by mutual arrangement, one was in the UK whenever the other was in North Africa, as a consequence of their relationship as boss and deputy. Despite this they briefed each other face to face whenever they crossed paths. As for the implication that Hopkinson was avoiding his own men in the Mascara area, being ordered by Browning to stay in the UK is a pretty good reason for there being no sign of Hopkinson for weeks in North Africa.

Browning & Hopkinson during planning for Operation Ladbroke
Chart showing how Hopkinson deputised for Browning in whichever country Browning was not in, and how they met whenever they crossed over. This was by mutual arrangement.

As for the implication that Hopkinson had gone rogue, when he was in Africa in mid-March as adviser he was continually in the presence of numerous capable people who knew what he was proposing, and these proposals were promptly signalled to all the HQs planning Husky and as far afield as London and America. It is also clear that Hopkinson did not meet Montgomery in the run-up to 25 April (the later date which Chatterton gives for the meeting with Hopkinson).

Hopkinson did meet Montgomery, but it was after this, on 10 May, once the Allies were victorious in Tunisia. Meanwhile, in the intervening two weeks between Hopkinson’s arrival in Algeria on 26/27 April and the meeting on 10 May in Cairo, momentous changes had taken place in the plan for Operation Husky. These changes were driven by Montgomery, who disapproved of the Husky plan prepared by the planners in Algiers. He argued forcefully against his superiors the commanders in chief, and also against the Americans.

The Easter Plan

The plans up to this point involved multiple beach assaults scattered all round Sicily, supported by paratroopers to “soften” the beach defences (quotation marks from 1943). The assaults were drawn out across several days because there were not enough transport planes, and these would have to be reused on subsequent nights to be able to drop the necessary total of paras. At this point there were still no plans for a glider assault. Montgomery now derided the dispersed and staggered seaborne landings, and demanded a concentration of effort, all on the same day, in the south-east corner of Sicily alone.

By 24 April he had signalled Algiers with his objections, and there was an immediate and outraged backlash from the chiefs. Easter Sunday that year was 25 April, and Montgomery dubbed his plan “the Easter Plan”. However no meeting to thrash out a resolution could be organised before 2 May, due to mishaps such as sickness and an air crash, plus difficulties such as the battle in Tunisia continuing and various HQs being hundreds of miles apart. At the 2 May meeting Montgomery finally got his way because, he claimed, he cornered the supreme commander’s chief of staff in a toilet during a break and persuaded him of his plan’s merits.

Clearly Hopkinson had nothing to do with the origins of Montgomery’s Easter Plan, because he was not in the country until after it was formed. Hopkinson also had nothing to do with the idea of using the British glider troops of 1 Air Landing Brigade (1 ALB) to capture Syracuse (the Operation Ladbroke plan). The Chiefs of Staff in both London and Washington, and all the planners and officers in North Africa, assumed from the end of February onwards that 1 ALB would be sent to North Africa. It was envisaged they might be used as gliderborne reserves to follow up the initial parachute attacks in Sicily.

The idea of using 1 ALB in a glider assault instead first appears in writing in a 25 April outline of Montgomery’s Easter Plan. This means Montgomery had the idea before Hopkinson even arrived, and certainly well before the two men met. Notably, Montgomery’s proposed glider assault was in addition to the beach-softening paratroop assaults, not instead of them.

However there was a consequence of the simultaneous concentration of effort demanded by Montgomery that did not work entirely to the benefit of his British task force. The shortage of transport aircraft meant that not enough planes were available on the first day, and two-thirds of them were given to the Americans to support their task force. Clearly this would require a radical rethink of the airborne plans for the British sector. The result was that only the glider troops would drop on the first day. The parachute brigades originally slated for simultaneous drops behind the beaches were redeployed to capture bridges on subsequent days.

Briefings

After meeting Montgomery in Cairo on 10 and 11 May, Hopkinson returned to Algiers on 14 May, and then Mascara on 16 May. The very next day, at 9am, he formally briefed his senior officers, including Chatterton, about the new plan. Thus any private meeting in Algiers between Chatterton and Hopkinson must have occurred before 17 May, when Chatterton was briefed in public at Mascara, and after 14 May, while Hopkinson was in Algiers for two days, presumably to brief the HQ planners about his recent meetings with Montgomery.

Hopkinson again returned to Algiers on 19 May, probably to meet Browning, who arrived there the next day following his leave in the UK. In a document addressed to Browning dated 21 May, Hopkinson outlined the plans for the three new airborne operations which, Hopkinson said, he had been instructed by Montgomery to carry out. These were assaults on Syracuse, Augusta and Catania on successive days, their size and timing determined by the now greatly reduced availability of aircraft [story].  Presumably Browning and Hopkinson met in person on 21 May to discuss these plans. If they did not meet that day, they soon did. Hopkinson returned to Mascara that day and Browning followed the next day, staying the night in order to be present for a conference, which had probably been timed precisely so that Browning could attend.

The conference on 23 May in Mascara was a huge affair, led by Browning, and everybody was present: officers of both the Army and the air forces, both British and American, and of course Chatterton. There is no record of any objections being raised during the conference. The war diary of 1 AD commented: “The decisions taken at this conference formed the basis of all future planning”. Up to that point, however, Hopkinson had been considering the idea of a paratroop assault on Syracuse in case the glider plan was deemed unworkable. This alternative plan was kept open as a fallback for several weeks. Hopkinson was apparently not as fanatically wedded to the glider plan as Chatterton thought.

Browning

So did Browning object to Montgomery’s plan? There is no evidence that he did. He wrote a report on 24 July 1943 after Operation Ladbroke which said “The operation was a reasonable one and well planned”. He also gave a speech in August 1943 in which he quite happily said he had strongly objected to the predecessor beach-softening plan, colourfully stating how he “violently assaulted the planners” for the plan’s impracticality (his report at the time was of course more measured in its language). However in this speech he made no critical comments about the Ladbroke plan, despite its known risks. The key word here is “known”. Everybody knew that the plan was risky, but most considered it worth going ahead with for its perceived enormous benefits.

One of its most strident critics later was Group Captain Cooper, who arrived in North Africa on 25 May, two days after the conference. He was sent as a substitute 38 Wing senior adviser after Norman was killed in an air crash. Cooper claimed he was shocked to hear about Operation Ladbroke, and even more shocked to discover that the plan seemed to be a fait accompli.

Browning later had a verbal running battle with Cooper over his objections, in turn claiming that Cooper did not voice objections at the time. At no point in this did Browning say that he himself had objected, or that he had agreed with any objections that might have been made. It’s clear from all of this that not only did Hopkinson not avoid Browning, but also Browning did not think Hopkinson had sneakily gone behind his back with a plan he objected to.

Montgomery

It’s also clear from the dates that Hopkinson did not “sell” a crackpot scheme of his own to Montgomery. The very idea is laughable. Montgomery was egocentric, cautious, critical and nobody’s fool. Earlier he had famously turned down the persuasive David Stirling, commander of the glamorous and heroic SAS, when Stirling asked for some of his best men. Montgomery bluntly said he would keep them for himself. In this, as in his objections to the original Husky plan, Montgomery’s drive was the same: to strengthen his own force to the extent that it could not fail. This is a reasonable approach, since defeat is not known to be a great way for a commander to prevent unnecessary casualties among his troops, let alone win wars.

When on 25 April Montgomery touted to the chiefs the idea of a glider assault on Syracuse, it was in addition to all the airborne troops already at his disposal, and because he knew, he said, that 1 ALB was sitting in the UK doing nothing. The idea was only one of his many ideas in the Easter Plan. Montgomery did not need ideas from others, as he was very happy with his own. As we have seen, he had no hesitation stirring up a hornet’s nest by pressing his ideas on the planners in Algiers and on his superiors, the commanders-in-chief.

This does not mean Montgomery trampled over his subordinates by micromanaging and doing everything himself. He waited until he had spoken to his corps and divisional commanders before pronouncing on details. This is why Hopkinson was invited to Cairo. On 10 May Hopkinson was one of many officers in a conference where Montgomery expounded his now-accepted Easter Plan. The next day Montgomery met Hopkinson for discussions. Montgomery then left the detailed planning to his officers. The Ladbroke plan did not sail through unvetted. Hopkinson had to justify it to Lieutenant General Dempsey, one of Montgomery’s right-hand men and the commander of 13 Corps, which was to lead the seaborne assault on Syracuse, the target of Operation Ladbroke.

Also present at the meetings with Dempsey in Cairo were other senior representatives of 1 AD, who were seconded to Cairo as airborne advisers. Back in Algiers Hopkinson had to get the agreement of the chiefs at Husky HQ, and in Mascara he had to get the approval of the American air force officers whose planes were to tow many of the gliders to Sicily. So although Hopkinson may have had a hand in the details, he did not do this alone.

The original idea was not Hopkinson’s but Montgomery’s, but even if it had been, Montgomery was not a man who could be easily “sold”. Not that selling the use of one’s own formation to a superior commander was frowned on at the time. In fact it was admired and respected, even expected.

Ambition and Threat

The same can be said of ambition, which Chatterton seems to imply was a failing of Hopkinson’s. General Patton, the commander of the American task force in Husky, and Montgomery’s great rival, was ambitious to be the next Napoleon. He went on to come close to that in his military reputation, and he is considered one of the great heroes of the war. Chatterton slates Hopkinson for being ambitious in particular for “his force”.

This refers to the fact that before becoming CO of the whole of 1 AD, Hopkinson had been CO of 1 ALB, the glider landing battalions. Again, the promotion of one’s own formation was expected of commanders. Not that this was true of Hopkinson to the point of mad obsession, despite Chatterton’s claims. In a document from early March Hopkinson suggested using American GPs instead of British ones, even though he had been initially briefed by the War Office to promote the use of British GPs.

It was also expected of commanders that they should remove subordinates whom they felt they could not trust. Prime Minister Winston Churchill did it regularly, and so did Montgomery. Chatterton himself did it, including firing an officer who apparently blamed Chatterton for the failures of Operation Ladbroke. Nevertheless Chatterton says that Hopkinson threatened to fire him, and it seems we are meant to think that this was unprofessional behaviour on Hopkinson’s part. However it may not even have happened. Another description of the private meeting appears in the book “Lion with Blue Wings” by Ronald Seth. It appeared in 1955, seven years before Chatterton’s own book.

The author extensively interviewed Chatterton and had access to his papers, and it seems likely that Chatterton must have seen a draft before it was published. In Seth’s account Hopkinson does not threaten Chatterton at all, and Chatterton does not object out loud to the plan. It is made explicitly clear that Chatterton only presumed, without being prompted, that he would be fired if he objected, so he did not object. This is similar to the way that (by his own account) Chatterton “felt sure”, without evidence, that Hopkinson had “sold” Montgomery. Perhaps in the years before he wrote his own book Chatterton forgot the details of the meeting, just as he appears to have forgotten its date.

As for Hopkinson being an “amateur pilot”, this refers to the fact that Chatterton had been in the RAF before joining the GPR, while Hopkinson was an Army man. In itself this is no particular indication that Chatterton had superior judgement regarding glider assaults. After all, the RAF officers of 38 Wing were qualified in exactly the same way. It also referred to the fact that Hopkinson had learned to fly as a hobby before the war, which you might think was an advantage, not a failing. In fact Hopkinson seems to have been one of the better glider pilots in 1 AD, and he himself flew a glider to Sicily during Operation Ladbroke.

As for the rest of Chatterton’s claims, briefly:

– The choice of LZs was mad? In a report he wrote in August 1943, Chatterton himself said that the hazard-strewn LZs had been chosen to fit the multiple requirements of the operation, and that they were “the only possible areas”.

– Chatterton did not know about the Waco? The Army chief of staff in London knew in late February that the Waco would be used in Sicily, possibly by British GPs. Hopkinson discussed this during his trip to Algiers in early March. It seems unlikely that he then returned to the UK and did not tell the commander of the GPR, Chatterton. Even King George VI knew about the Waco, as he was shown one when he visited 1 AD in the UK on 2 April, when Chatterton was present. Finally, the report written by Chatterton in August admitted that in North Africa his GPs were “strange to the WACO Glider. This need not have been so as WACOS were already built in England”. Since the GPs and Chatterton arrived together in Algeria in late April, the Waco cannot have been news to Chatterton at that point nor afterwards.

– Montgomery was ignorant of the conditions for success and of the muddled background (etc.)? As we have seen, Montgomery was advised by multiple experts, just not by Chatterton himself, who was no more expert than the others despite his protestations. Early on in his review of the Husky plan Montgomery asked one of his staff to compile a list of all the previous (muddled) versions of it. This was the kind of thorough and perfectionist approach he took to planning. He certainly did not accept entire plans “solely” from anybody, nor regardless of risk. Mitigation of risk was, after all, one of his major obsessions.

– The airborne troops had to be used at all costs, otherwise they might never be used at all? There was an element of this throughout the  war, as training and maintaining elite airborne forces was so expensive that it was unthinkable not to use them. Why else raise them and keep them? This reason was subsidiary in Husky, however, as Allied commanders and planners at all levels, starting with Eisenhower himself, were adamant that the participation of the airborne troops was “vital”, otherwise the whole invasion was at risk.

All in all, it is clear that Chatterton’s story of his meeting with Hopkinson is not just at first glance extremely dubious, but most of it is contradicted by the evidence, and for the rest of it there is no evidence at all.

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Glider Pilots to Blame for Operation Ladbroke Disaster? Part 3

In his post-war book, the CO of the glider pilots blamed their ‘limitations’ for the ‘near disaster’ of Operation Ladbroke. Is the accusation true?

Gliders in Sicily Operation Ladbroke LZ 2 from glider pilot's point of view (C) Aurora Publishing
A glider pilot’s eye view of LZ 2. Apart from the holiday villas that have sprouted up on what was a bare shore in 1943, little has changed. The grid behind the shore is a network of raised concrete irrigation channels, a landing hazard which was there during Operation Ladbroke. Syracuse harbour can be seen in the background.

In Part 1 we saw how the use of gliders in Operation Ladbroke, the opening assault in the invasion of Sicily in 1943, was a last-minute decision. It left little time for training. On the night, many of the gliders came down in the sea. Twenty years later the CO of the glider pilots, George Chatterton, claimed that the inexperience of his own men was the chief cause of the failures of Ladbroke. In Part 2, we saw that Chatterton’s reports from 1943 said no such thing, and the report of a Board of Enquiry also had little to blame the glider pilots for. But could the accusation in fact be true?

I was lucky enough a few years ago to be taken up in a light aircraft in Sicily. The plane followed the approach track along the coast that the tugs and gliders of Operation Ladbroke followed in 1943. We planned to turn at one of the glider release points, 3,000 yards offshore at 1,800 feet, and then mimic a glide down to the landing zones, pulling off at the last moment. As we approached the release point, the altimeter registered exactly 1,800 feet. The prescribed distance of 3,000 yards offshore was less easy to determine, but with good views of the huge promontory of Cape Murro di Porco and the Maddalena Peninsula to our front, we could see from the angles that were lined up about right. I had also been trying to count off landmarks we had passed on the way, just as glider pilots did during the war – the logic being that when we passed the last one, then what came next must be the right area.

Gliders in Sicily Operation Ladbroke release zone map (C) Aurora Publishing
Map showing the planned approach track, release zone, glide paths and landing zones (LZs) for Operation Ladbroke. When the time came, few gliders were released at the specified points.

But, looking left towards the distant LZs, I could not have told you how far out we were, by a very large margin. I have no experience judging the distance to coasts from such a position, but without any objects providing scale, either in the water or on the distant shore, it seemed impossible to tell. There was also a haze which, over that distance, washed out contrast, blurred detail and made the interior behind the coast start to vanish. I pointed towards where in the murk I thought Milocca Point was, and asked the pilot to turn towards it, as the glider pilots would have done in 1943. The plane banked steeply left, and for a moment the roof blocked my view of the coast. When we levelled up, I had trouble reacquiring Milocca Point, as the temporary loss of sight had interrupted the trail of previous landmarks that I had been counting on. As we headed into the bay, descending slowly, the haze thinned and the coast became clearer.

Suddenly I realised that we were veering towards Arenella Point, identifiable by having a twin, Asparano Point. On the map the two points jut clearly out into the sea, but our distance and height gave us a very low angle of view, so the two points hardly looked like headlands jutting into the bay at all. They looked rounded and barely protruding. Milocca Point, the correct reference mark for LZ 1, is less a point in the sense of being a protrusion into the bay, and more a kink in the coast. Compared to Arenella Point, it was hardly noticeable. And this confusion happened in broad daylight, with the sun behind us. I corrected the pilot and, with the luxury of an engine, he jinked right then left to get back onto the glide path (although such a manoeuvre would have cost too much height in a glider). We then veered towards LZ 2 as we got closer.

You could argue that if I was confident of releasing at the correct point, I should have trusted to a compass bearing and not hazy landmarks. Certainly one of the benefits of having two pilots during Operation Ladbroke was that the first pilot in the left seat concentrated on looking outwards, while the second pilot in the right seat concentrated on looking down at the instruments. Even so, as any map-reading hiker can tell you, when a compass bearing and a landmark appear to clash, one of the things you instinctively do is question how confident you can be about your start point, on which the bearing entirely depends. Frequently, on 9 July 1943, the glider pilots had only the faintest idea where they were, and when bearing and landmark clashed, unlike a hiker who can take as long as he likes to figure out the problem, the glider pilots had only seconds.

The pilots, both tug and glider, had all these problems in 1943, but they approached and released, not in daylight, but in the dark. They were blinded by searchlights and fires on the ground. The pitiful quarter moon was in the wrong part of the sky, and it vanished periodically in hazy intermittent cloud. There was a 35 miles per hour offshore wind, but the release heights gave no margin for error. Plus most of the pilots had no more experience of judging distances to coasts than I do. In fact, so little could they see, that some used the presence of fires and firing on the ground as their cue to release and land.

Where are we?

Lieutenant Bernard Halsall, second pilot in Waco 86, said:

“When the moon came out for a short while we could see the coastline. We’d had photographs of the coastline, and where we were didn’t resemble the coastline at all to me.”

I have seen those same photographs, which were of a detailed model, lit to mimic the moonlight on the night of the invasion, and taken with a camera at supposedly the correct angle. They are indeed misleading, mainly due to their crisp detail and sharp black-and-white contrast. There was no dimness, no cloud and no atmospheric haze in the model room. Halsall continued:

“A fair bit of flak came up … We could see firing on the ground between the troops [i.e. between Italians and already-landed glider men], so we knew somebody was down there who wasn’t welcome. We decided we’d go off there. So off we went. Then the moon went in. I can remember crossing the coast, seeing the sand, and we’d be then at about 300 feet I should think. Then it went pitch black. I was told afterwards we hit a stone wall at about 85mph. Everybody was knocked out.”

Clearly, if a glider pilot did not know where his tug had brought him, and could not see, then no amount of prescribed headings or map-reading skills were going to help him choose a direction to his LZ. It was the tug pilot’s job to bring his glider to the release zone, as the glider had no long-distance navigational equipment other than a compass. The report issued by the Board of Enquiry seemed to suggest that once they neared the release zone the tug pilot and the glider pilot should pool their map-reading skills to determine when to release.

This was not the intention in Operation Ladbroke, and intercommunication equipment between the gliders and the planes barely arrived by the day of take-off. It was hurriedly fitted and many sets failed during the flight. In any case, if a tug never brought its glider anywhere near a place where map-reading could kick in, no amount of such skills would make any difference. For the glider pilot it became a case of finding any land, rather than sea, at any cost.

Landing in the Sea

One way of establishing the culpability of the glider pilots could be to determine if any failings of theirs landed them in the sea. The following numbers are for Waco gliders and are not exact, because some of the fates of the gliders are unclear, but they are probably accurate to within, say, five percent. The eight Horsa gliders have been excluded, because their track, their release height and their fates were very different. Only 130 Waco gliders managed to leave Tunisia. For one reason or another, the rest failed to take off successfully. Of the 130:

5 were returned to Malta or Africa after the tug failed to find the release zone.

50 reached land in Sicily.

75 landed in the sea off Sicily.

Of the 50 Wacos that reached land, only one crashed catastrophically (having not enough height to clear a coastal cliff). The rest landed well enough for almost all of the men inside to take part in the battle or, if far away, to march towards it. This lack of serious crashes and casualties is remarkable, given that the Waco pilots had been trained to land fast, and the LZs were crowded with trees, houses, stone walls, ditches, concrete irrigation channels and overhead wires. It is hard to see how more time spent in flying training would have affected this outcome in any but the most marginal way.

Regarding the Wacos that landed in the sea, published statistics show that the glider pilots were mainly at the mercy of the quality of navigation to the release zone. In 1943 Squadron Leader Lawrence Wright of 38 Wing, as well as staff officers of 1st Airborne Division, analysed the operation and showed that the gliders which were released at or above the prescribed height, and at or closer than the prescribed distance, mostly reached land, and the rest, which were released in the wrong place, i.e. too low but mainly too far out, landed in the sea. Being an RAF man, Wright was of course keen to point out that the gliders towed by night-experienced British bomber crews, each with a navigator, performed much better than their American counterparts.

70 years later Staff Sergeant Alec Waldron, first pilot of Waco 119, which landed in the sea that night, recomputed these statistics after re-examining all the evidence at his disposal. Although he concluded that the prescribed heights were too low to guarantee success, his scatter graph plotting release positions against landing positions shows basically the same result as the 1943 calculations. It was the position of release, not the glide to the shore, that was the deciding factor in the vast percentage of cases.

Gliders in Sicily - Operation Ladbroke Waco glider in sea
A Waco glider floats off the Costa Bianca, with the rocky spine of the Maddalena Peninsula visible in the background.

Of those Wacos that did land in the sea, 18 almost reached the shore, and landed in the water not far from the cliffs and beaches around the release zone. At least that is where they were when they were plotted a few days later, but the number may have been less, as some may have landed further out and drifted in. These gliders are candidates for wondering whether, had the glider pilots been better trained, they could have reached land, if only barely. It is worth pointing out, however, that many of the men who landed in the sea swam ashore and also fought, and that the gliders that ditched were mainly flown so skilfully that the landing on water in itself does not seem to have caused many casualties. It was the subsequent rapid submerging of the fuselage down to the level of the wings, a feature of the Waco’s design, that drowned many men, and then the exhausting hours that many spent clinging to the wreckage before being washed away by huge waves.

Statistics, statistics …

Before looking further at those 18 gliders that just missed the shore, it is interesting to ask how many gliders landed, both on land or in the sea, around the area of the release zone, as opposed to much further away. In addition to 16 gliders that landed in the LZs, or within a few hundred yards of them, another 43 landed, either on land or in the sea near the shore, in a large semi-circle around the release points, stretching from Cape Ognina to Cape Murro di Porco. This implies that only 59 gliders (45% of the 130) were released somewhere near enough the release points for them to reach or almost reach land within a few thousand yards of the LZs. This seems to implicate the navigation of the tug pilots of the remaining 55% that missed by miles (the Wacos were expected to glide about 4,000 yards, or just over two miles).

The 18 gliders in the water near the shore of the release zone comprised 14% of the 130. Even if every single one was there as the result of poor flying or map reading by the glider pilots, 14% does not seem to constitute a “main” cause. But we know that roughly half of all the glider pilots had passed advanced training, and they had many hours of flying under their belts. These men were generally the first pilots, while the more recently trained men were their co-pilots. This implies that every one of these 18 gliders was probably flown by a thoroughly trained pilot, who additionally must have been powerfully motivated for many reasons not to land in the sea and drown himself and his charges. It seems unlikely that 100% of the 18 glider pilots ruined what was an otherwise perfect arrival at the release points because of poor training.

This argument can of course be challenged in various ways. Perhaps some gliders released themselves too far out even though the tug pilot knew better and would have taken them closer. The tug pilots had been ordered to unilaterally release their gliders if the glider pilots had not released themselves. This means that it was the glider pilot’s job to actually pull the release knob, although it was intended that the tug pilot would signal the glider pilot when he reached the release zone, using the intercom (if it was working), or by flashing his lights. What if every one of the 75 gliders that went down in the sea was there because the glider pilot chose to release in the wrong place?

To release or not to release

However we know that 14 of the gliders that landed in the sea were forcibly released by their tugs. We can add to that the 5 gliders that did not release at all and were flown back. We know that some gliders released only when their tugs made violent turns that a glider could not follow. We know that in other cases the formation of four got separated, and some of the planes without navigators simply got lost. These circumstances reduce the cases where the glider pilots had any choice in the matter to, say, 40 at most.

We also know that many gliders released themselves when ordered to by the tugs, even though they could not see anything that indicated they were in the right place. Sometimes they were in fact 10 or 20 miles from the right place. The glider pilots released because they were flying in groups of four, and all felt obliged to release if any one of them did. Only the glider pilot of the Waco that was being towed by the lead tug was in a position to argue with the tug’s navigator (and some did, but only if the intercom was working). There was a terrible multiplier effect in this. If the single navigator in the lead tug plane got it wrong, then four gliders and up to 72 men went into the sea together. The glider pilots also feared that if they did not release when ordered to by the tug, then the tug would release them first. When that happened the stretched tow rope lashed back at the glider, and could cause damage that might make the glider with all its troops tumble from the sky.

If the glider pilots can be blamed for releasing themselves when ordered to under these circumstances, then more training would not have helped, as their choices were made for reasons other than having poor flying or map-reading skills. The same applies to gliders that did reach land, albeit too far away. If navigation failures were a greater cause of the near-disaster than any of the other causes, then overall the tug pilots have a greater share of that than the glider pilots.

An all too common occurrence

We also have the evidence of other airborne debacles. The paratroopers of the US 82nd Airborne Division, destined for the American sector of Sicily in Operation Husky 1, flew from roughly the same area of Tunisia, at roughly the same time as the gliders of Operation Ladbroke, and followed the same route as far as the island. Clearly there were no glider pilots who could be blamed for releasing badly and flying poorly, but still the paratrooper landings were wildly scattered. Nearly a year later, during the D Day Normandy landings, many paratrooper transport pilots again dramatically missed their targets in the darkness. Again circumstances conspired to exacerbate the basic difficulties.

RAF squadrons bombing Germany had similar night navigation problems. So few bombs landed within miles of specific targets that saturation area bombing became the norm. Accuracy remained a problem even when the bombers were aided by sophisticated radar equipment and were led by expert pathfinders.

The problem of accurate navigation for airborne assaults was never satisfactorily resolved. Under the dire constraints and harsh priorities of war, it seems there never was enough time or resources to justify training many more navigators, or to let everybody practice to the umpteenth degree. The old “Dad’s Army” joke applies: “Don’t you know there’s a war on?” Apparently it was difficult seconding many hundreds of planes permanently to the training of the airborne divisions when there were so many other vital things for them to do.

Whatever the reasons for Chatterton’s apparent accusation against his own men, it was clearly unfounded. Whatever mistakes the glider pilots might have made had little effect on the overall outcome. They were not a “main”, nor even a significant cause of the “near-disaster” of Operation Ladbroke. Would more or different training have helped? Certainly common experience bears out that practice, practice, practice leads to perfection. More training for the glider pilots before Sicily would have done no harm, but how much training would have made how much difference? Even with more training they could still have made misjudgements when confronted by the myriad difficulties they encountered that night. They could still have released for reasons unconnected with their training. The effect of more training, under those circumstances, could have been marginal on an already marginal problem.

Getting there

It seems the planners who thought at the outset that the poor navigation skills of the transport pilots might threaten the whole plan were right, even though at that point gliders had not yet been considered. This does not mean the tug pilots should be vilified, especially not for mass cowardice, as they were by some. Many went round again and again trying to find the right spot. Then, a couple of days later, in Operations Fustian and Husky 2, many of them died at the controls of their planes [example], doggedly heading into the DZs in a blizzard of enemy and, sadly, friendly anti-aircraft fire.

Flight Lieutenant Tommy Grant was an expert pilot who was seconded from the Royal Aircraft Establishment at Farnborough to 38 Wing for the invasion. It was his Halifax (with its night-experienced RAF crew and navigator) that towed the only Horsa glider that managed to land intact next to its target, Waterloo Bridge. It was the men of that glider who alone seized the bridge and saved the day. Grant was also the man who Chatterton headhunted to train the Pegasus Bridge coup-de-main flyers for D Day Normandy, and they also succeeded brilliantly. At the end of his report into Operation Ladbroke, Grant admitted that it was the first time that he had flown a four-engine aircraft at night, and the first time he had towed a glider in an operation. Looking at all the lessons Sicily offered, he added: “In short, there were too many people doing something for the first time that night”.

General Harold Alexander was the British commanding officer of both the American and the British armies in Sicily. He was Eisenhower’s deputy and almost as charming and avuncular as his boss. He summed it up well. “The airborne troops themselves”, he wrote (and that would include the glider pilots), “are excellent. Tough, fit, efficient, and of high morale; I don’t say they haven’t a lot to learn which can only be done by Training – Experience – Training. The outstanding weakness in the set up is the lack of trained Air Force pilots to transport them. Through no fault of their own, they are untrained for & inexperienced in the job.”

Earlier parts of this article:     Part 1      Part 2

Alec Waldron’s book “Operation Ladbroke – From Dream to Disaster” was first published in 2003. Buy it from the publisher here.

George Chatterton’s book “The Wings of Pegasus” was first published in 1962.

Lawrence Wright’s book “The Wooden Sword” was first published in 1967.

A version of this article appeared in the final issue of “The Eagle”, the magazine of the Glider Pilot Regimental Association

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The Battle for Augusta – Jim Fern and the 6 Seaforths

Jim Fern of 6 Seaforths at home on leave.
Jim photographed at home, possibly during his last leave. He is wearing the “Balmoral bonnet” (Scots beret) of the Seaforth Highlanders.

The town of Augusta in Sicily did not fall easily, despite half its garrison having fled. Lance Corporal Jim Fern of the 6 Seaforths died fighting in the battle to capture it. The young pit worker from the Leicestershire mining town of Coalville was buried on the battlefield, far from home and those he loved. His grave in an olive grove overlooked the blue Mediterranean and the town he never reached.

We can piece together the story of his death in 1943 in the battle for Augusta, and of his years in the Army, from unit war diaries, and also from ten letters sent to his sister Violet. Nine of these are letters from Jim himself, and one, with the bad news, is from his friend Harold.

Gate into the citadel of Augusta in Sicily (C) Aurora Publishing
The monumental Baroque gate into the citadel at Augusta, where the bridge from the mainland enters the town.

In 1940 Jim was in the Leicestershire Regiment when he and many other men were posted to the 6th Battalion of the Seaforth Highlanders, which had been decimated during the fighting in France. The 6 Seaforths was one of three battalions in 17 Brigade, itself one of three infantry brigades in 5 Division. The other two battalions in 17 Brigade were 2 Northants and 2 Royal Scots Fusiliers. 17 Brigade would later form the spearhead of General Montgomery’s Eighth Army during Operation Husky, the Allied invasion of Sicily in 1943. During Husky the job of the brigade was to race up the coast and capture two ports: Syracuse (codenamed Ladbroke) and Augusta. The ports were crucial to Eighth Army’s success, and indeed survival. Without them, it was feared, reinforcements and supplies could not be landed quickly enough to enlarge the beachhead and defend it from strong enemy counterattacks.

Military Odyssey

Back in 1941 the invasion of Sicily was still two years away, and during those two years the 6 Seaforths, and Jim with them, went on an extraordinary odyssey. First the division was sent to Northern Ireland in case the Germans invaded Eire. Then in early 1942, the brigade moved to Surrey and was told to get prepared for a tropical climate. Following the entry of Japan into the war a month or so before, it was assumed this meant India or the Far East. Realising that he might never see his family again, Jim sent a contrite letter to Violet, apologising profusely for not having put time aside to see her on his last leave.

Two weeks later, on the eve of departure, he wrote again. To add to his forebodings about departure, he’d heard that a friend in another unit had been killed, and it drove home the dangers he was about to face. He hoped his own death, if it came, would be quick, since “to be killed outright is a lot better than suffering”.

A few days later 17 Brigade left Liverpool in a convoy bound for South Africa. The Mediterranean, and hence the Suez Canal, was effectively closed to the British. This was especially true at the Sicilian Narrows, where Sicily and Africa are not far apart, and where Axis aircraft made the passage of Allied shipping almost suicidal. One of the benefits from the later invasion of Sicily was the clearing of this threat. Meanwhile all the forces intended for Egypt or the East went round the Cape, adding thousands of miles to the journey.

When the convoy reached Durban in South Africa, the troops were told to prepare for an imminent amphibious assault landing. They were not told where, but clearly they were not going straight to India. The men of the brigade had not practiced with landing craft, and were unfit after weeks at sea, so a crash course of training followed for a few days.

Invasion: Madagascar

In an undated letter, possibly written in those empty hours just before the attack, when time on a troopship drags interminably, and men file wills, or give letters to their friends to keep “just in case”, Jim reassured Violet: “Keep smiling and I’ll do the same. If there are any tough times I’m accustomed to it, should be a change from pit work”.

By dawn on 5 May 1942 the ships were anchored off the island of Madagascar. The men were crowded at the rails of the passenger liners, cheering as the leading waves of landing craft full of Royal Marines headed for the beaches. The island was in Vichy (pro-Nazi) French hands, and Britain feared that the French might welcome Japanese naval forces into the Indian Ocean, so the island had to be taken. The next day, foreshadowing the invasion of Sicily, the brigade made a long and gruelling march in full kit through suffocating heat and dust. On reaching their objective, the battalions assembled south of Antsirane (now Antisiranana [map]), a heavily fortified town that guarded the superb naval harbour at Diego Suarez.

When night fell, the Seaforths launched a bayonet charge into the defences. James Stockman, who was in ‘A’ Company (Jim Fern’s company), later wrote that the French, Senegalese and local defenders fought ferociously, and there followed the most savage hand-to-hand fighting he ever encountered. Despite Jim’s blithe comments in his letter, Violet would have known that even the toughest of times in the mines did not compare to times like these, and she would have feared for him all the same.

The men of 17 Brigade overwhelmed Antsirane’s defences, and the 6 Seaforths were present on parade when the French formally surrendered. When Jim later wrote to Violet from Madagascar, he did not mention the fighting, presumably so as not to worry her. But the mere fact of his letter let her know he was still alive, so his tone was upbeat and he merely joked about the stifling weather, and what a shock it would be to return to cold, gloomy England and a job in the pits.

The Defence of Iraq

Only a month or so after the landings, in June, the brigade headed for India, and then halfway across it, to defend India following the successful Japanese invasion of Burma. Three months later, in September, they headed back the way they came. They were now part of Tenth Army, also known as Paiforce (Persia and Iraq Force), which was sent to Iraq and Iran to counter the German threat to the oilfields of the Caucasus and Middle East. There was also the danger that the Germans might attack the British in Egypt from the east as well as from the west.

In October, Jim wrote from Paiforce that he had not seen any mail from home in six months, and was desperate to hear from his family. The normal, seaborne mail may have failed to catch up with the brigade’s constant and exotic travels, so Jim sent an airgraph that would reach the UK quickly, perhaps in time to get replies before he moved again. It seems he got on better with Violet than he did with his parents, who he said were always too busy working, but he ended his letter clearly missing them all, especially his nephew, Violet’s toddler Dennis, or “Dinkie”:

“How’s wee Dinkie getting along? Does he still give his Grandad his patter? I liked to hear him, in fact I had many a good laugh at him, oh, if you see his Grandma just let them know, I want to be hearing from them.”

Operation Husky

Jim Fern of 6 Seaforths formal portrait possibly taken in Egypt.
Jim in a formal studio portrait, possibly taken in Egypt.

Shortly after Christmas 1942 the brigade was on the move again. Jim wrote to Violet that he was now enjoying the constant travel. He was contented being abroad, he said, and feeling both healthy and lucky. By May the brigade was at the Combined Operations Training Centre in the desert at Kabrit [map] in Egypt. Here, on the shores of the Great Bitter Lakes, they practised endlessly in landing craft for the next great amphibious invasion, that of Sicily, although of course the men did not yet know their destination.

Portrait photographs were vital both to families and soldiers during the war. Like letters, they were yet another small link, another small bulwark against the possibility of imminent death and oblivion. On 30 May 1943 Jim sent Violet a photo of himself, perhaps taken in Egypt, and asked her to arrange for copies to be made of another photo that he thought was better.

It was the last letter he ever sent her.

By June the brigade was in the Gulf of Aqaba [map] in the Red Sea conducting full-scale rehearsals for Sicily. Some three weeks later, on the evening of 9 July 1943, the men of the three battalions were anchored off George Beach [map], south of Syracuse in Sicily. The night was full of the drone of bombers and long streams of transport aircraft towing gliders packed with troops. The popple and thud of distant gunfire drifted across the water. The darkness was lit by tracer, flares, searchlights, fires and explosions. The men counted down the long minutes until they had to climb into their landing craft and head for the contested shore.

D Day Sicily

On the day of the landings, 10 July, the 6 Seaforths led the landings and the attack on the nearby town of Cassibile [map], which they captured. Syracuse [map] was then taken by the Northants and Royal Scots Fusiliers, with help from the glider troops of Operation Ladbroke. The next day, the 11th, the Northants and the accompanying Sherman tanks of 3 County of London Yeomanry [photo] were held up south of the town of Priolo [map], north of Syracuse. Here, for the first time in Sicily, the British encountered German forces. The Germans were equipped with first class anti-tank weapons and armoured vehicles, and several Sherman tanks were knocked out [photo].

By the morning of the 12th, the day of Jim’s death, the Germans had pulled out of Priolo. It seems they withdrew because they guessed that the British were planning to use maximum firepower against them, including the much-feared heavy guns of the Royal Navy. The German plan presumably did not include being annihilated pointlessly. Instead they were fighting delaying actions while strong reinforcements gathered further north in better defensive positions. Their decision to evacuate Priolo was wise – the British plans did indeed include a barrage by all the divisional artillery, and also a bombing attack by 36 Kittyhawk fighter-bombers [photo]. The barrage was cancelled just in time, but it was too late to cancel the air attack, which went ahead. Two planes collided and fell in the sea, with only one of the pilots surviving.

Both 15 and 17 Infantry Brigades now entered the town, which was soon crammed with British troops and vehicles heading north along the narrow coastal plain. The congestion made a perfect target for enemy artillery, which could fire blind, by the map, and still have a high chance of hitting something. The 6 Seaforths suffered some minor casualties in the crowded streets, although other battalions fared worse. But capturing Priolo town was little in itself. Just north of it was a river that made a natural anti-tank obstacle [map], and it was covered by enemy troops ensconced on a small ridge or knoll [map]. They were supported by guns firing on the British flanks from the slopes of the foothills of the plateau further inland. It took until nearly 2pm to drive the defenders from the knoll, after a hefty artillery barrage supplemented by naval gunfire, followed by a three-company set-piece attack by the Royal Scots Fusiliers.

Battle on the Marcellino

At this point the 6 Seaforths again took over the lead. They were finally in the open country north of Priolo, and for some miles they met no opposition. However after crossing the Marcellino River [map] they entered the area behind Cugno Point [map], which faced the town of Augusta on its peninsula [map] across the bay. The area was overcast with black smoke from scores of burning fuel oil tanks, set on fire by retreating Italians (there are still oil tanks there today [map]). The Italian command, control and communications seem to have been in chaos. The oil tanks had been blown on the first day of the invasion, when the rumour spread through the local Italian garrisons and militias that the British were already at Priolo. Many of the Italians abandoned their positions and gun batteries and fled north. In fact the British did not enter Priolo for another two days.

Now that the British really were at Priolo, the Italians sent a regular army unit, the 2nd Battalion of the 76th Regiment of the Napoli Division (2/76), into the void vacated by the militias and the Germans, and told them to face east, towards the sea off Cugno Point, in case the British attempted more amphibious landings. It seems incredible that the Italians did not know that the threat was from the south, from the land, and almost upon them. Perhaps they were distracted by the numerous Royal Navy ships off Augusta, which were liberally shelling the coastal defences and towns, and also attempting to enter the harbour [story].

What followed next was like an encounter battle, when two opposing forces marching towards each other bump into one another, and then feed units ad hoc into the fray as fast as they come up. The Italians were still deploying to face the sea when the leading company of the 6 Seaforths, presumably preceded by Bren carriers [photo] in their reconnaissance role, hit the Italian “right” flank. Even then, the commander of the Napoli troops did not suspect a major advance from the landings two days before, but thought that the British must have made a landing on the nearby beaches earlier that day, and that his men had arrived too late to stop it.

This was the first time that a British battalion in Sicily had met an Italian regular army battalion on almost equal terms. The 2/76’s sister battalion in the Napoli Division, the 1/75, had been encountered on 10 July south of Syracuse, but then it had been up against three or more British battalions, and it was effectively destroyed. Now the 6 Seaforths, deployed in single file along the road north, came under machine gun fire from both sides. Italian mortars and artillery plastered the road and the approaches south of the Marcellino [photo].

The Seaforth mortar platoon was ordered forwards to lend weight to the attack, but it could hardly move along the narrow and heavily congested road. Part of the blockage was the large Sherman tanks [photo], which also could not get forwards quickly. The RAF was not available for on-call close air support, and the Royal Navy was by now fully occupied with trying to get its ships into Augusta [story]. In any case, the ships would have had the same problem as the British artillery – the opposing forces were too closely intermingled to allow for safe shellfire. So ‘A’ Company, Jim Fern’s company, attacked without support. As a single company facing a whole battalion, progress was slow. James Stockman later described the fighting as “grim”.

Dash and Courage

Then the British Bren carriers [photo], showing great dash and courage, decided to charge madly down the road and see if they could break through what they hoped was a thin crust of disorganised Italian defenders. Disorganised it may have been (from facing the wrong way), but 2/76 was not a thin crust. Also, its commander had the foresight to bring one of his artillery pieces down to the road to act as an anti-tank gun. Here it did exactly what it was supposed to, and knocked out the one of the carriers. Three men were killed. The other carriers now came under a hail of hand grenades. The carriers were open-topped and only lightly armoured, and they were forced to withdraw.

By now the Sherman tanks had come forwards, but they were withdrawn again because of the anti-tank guns. This was probably not out of some kind of cowardice. The Sherman crews had shown their courage the day before at Priolo, and would do so again the next day, when they lost six out of seven tanks attacking a strongpoint. But warfare is like a game of stone-paper-scissors. In a case like this, simplistically: machine guns kill infantry, tanks kill machine guns, anti-tank guns kill tanks and infantry kill anti-tank guns. So ‘A’ company of the 6 Seaforths bore the brunt.

The fighting went on in spurts for several hours, as each side assembled enough forces, or reformed for another attack or counterattack. ‘A’ Company, Jim’s company, was relieved by ‘B’ Company. At one point the Seaforths were bombed and strafed by a dozen Italian fighters. These planes were then called away to escort aircraft carrying those strong reinforcements that the Germans were planning to use further north. The reinforcements were elite German paratroopers, who were about to be dropped near the Primosole Bridge over the Simeto River south of Catania. The plan worked, and the British, following the capture of Augusta, were held up south of Catania for many days.

Meanwhile, back on the Marcellino, the British mortars finally came forward to tip the scales in favour of the 6 Seaforths. In any case the Highlanders were battle-hardened troops, while the Italians of 2/76 were green. By the time the battle was over, and the Italians had retreated, it was early evening, and the sun was sinking. On the other side of Augusta, the men of Britain’s elite SAS Regiment were landing under intense fire [story] to seize the town itself, which had been almost completely evacuated by the Italians.

Fight for the Seaplane Base

One final phase of the battle for the approaches to Augusta remained for the 6 Seaforths – the battle for the defences around the Italian seaplane base [map]. This was located in the armpit of the bay that curves round and connects with the peninsula town of Augusta itself. The area was (and still is) immediately recognisable by its huge airship hangar [map], which towers above the shore. It was protected by a variety of defences including pillboxes [photo]. It was probably dark by this time, with a crescent moon providing enough light to fight by.

A typical Sicilian pillbox guarding a typical country road (C) Aurora Publishing
A typical Sicilian pillbox guarding a typical country road. In 1943 the road would not have been tarmac, but white dust, and by July the grass would have been burned brown.

The Sherman tanks of the Yeomanry were now working hand-in-glove with the infantry, and had come up with a way of dealing with blockhouses that might harbour anti-tank guns, without unnecessarily exposing the tanks. Their new technique involved the commander of the tanks walking forwards with the infantry. When the heavy machine gun of a pillbox opened fire, he called forward the leading tank and briefed it. It then fired three armour-piercing shells, followed by three high-explosive shells, then pumped long bursts of machine gun fire at the pillbox. Since the concrete in most pillboxes in Sicily did not use steel reinforcement, and the coastal troops manning them were mainly older reservists with poor morale, this usually had the desired effect. However, near the airship hangar [map], a pillbox resisted. It was taken by 10 Platoon of ‘B’ Company supported by tanks. Six Italians died inside it, three outside. No prisoners were taken.

Jim’s Death

It may have been here that Jim Fern died, attacking the pillbox, as described by his friend in ‘A’ Company, Lance Corporal Harold Halford. We cannot be sure, because the 6 Seaforths war diary and Harold’s account do not quite tally. War diaries are not infallible, but it states more than once that ‘B’ Company was in the lead at this point, and we know from his last letter that Jim was in 9 Platoon, ‘A’ Company. Perhaps, then, Jim was killed in the battle near the Marcellino river, in amongst the thorn scrub and the oil tanks, when ‘A’ Company was in the lead. However neither British nor Italian intelligence maps show any pillboxes near the Marcellino, nor do accounts mention any, but Harold specifically mentions a pillbox.

We will probably never know for sure. However we can with some certainty say that Jim probably died between about 4pm and midnight on 12th July 1943, somewhere between the Marcellino River and the area around the seaplane base.

Not long after the fighting for the houses and pillboxes near the seaplane base, the 6 Seaforths stopped for the night. In the last three days they had made an assault landing, marched many foot-sore miles in stifling heat and dust, plagued by flies and malarial mosquitoes, been shelled and bombed, and fought in gruelling conditions. Their sister battalions now took the lead, and in the small hours of the morning they marched past the isthmus of the Augusta peninsula and occupied the high ground north and north-east of the town. Italian civilians who had been evacuated from Augusta onto the heights of Monte Tauro were astonished to wake up and find the Royal Scots Fusiliers camped nearby [story]. The Northants connected with the SAS in the town in the morning. Apart from the mopping up of bypassed enemy positions, the battle for Augusta was over.

We may not know exactly when or exactly where Jim died, but Harold’s letter tells us, as it told Violet all those years ago, what we want to know:

15 Aug 43

Dear Friend

[…]

Jim was lost 2 days after we landed. We were making an attack on a pill box on the outskirts of a town which later fell to us. They got old Jim with machine gun fire. He died a few minutes after, but I am thankful that he felt no pain.

Jim went into the attack as he had done many times before, with no fear at his heart, his only thought to do his duty as a soldier and obeyed orders to the last. I saw him shortly after he had passed away. He had a peaceful look on his face. But I could not stop with him long, circumstances would not allow it as you will understand.

[…]

There is one more thing I should like to mention, he had his girl’s photo next to his heart when he died and also a bone ring with her photo encased in it. Well I know you would like to know where Jim’s last resting place is, he is buried on the top of a hill overlooking the town and his grave is under an olive tree not far from the sea. He is resting in a lovely surrounding. A rough wooden cross with his name on marks the spot. He is not alone, about 7 of our comrades are around about him. […] He died as every soldier likes to die. Fighting.

[…]

From Jim’s old pal

Harold.

Grave of Jim Fern of 6 Seaforths in Syracuse cemetery
Jim’s grave in Syracuse CWGC cemetery. The photos were left by his family. The Sicilian gardeners keep such tributes intact as long as they can.

Jim’s body was later moved to the Commonwealth War Graves Cemetery at Syracuse [map].  The bodies of all British and Commonwealth soldiers that had been given battlefield burials were transferred to cemeteries. A standard gravestone of a uniform design was provided by the government, but relatives could specify a personal message to be carved onto the base. Jim’s heart-broken parents, Charles and Grace, wrote this for their son:

HAPPY, SMILING, ALWAYS CONTENT
LOVED AND RESPECTED
WHEREVER HE WENT.

seaforths-plaque-in-catania-cemetery
A plaque in Catania CWGC cemetery to all the dead of the Seaforth Highlanders. In addition to the 6th Battalion, the 2nd and 5th Battalions of the Seaforths, and other battalions of the Seaforth Highlanders from Canada, also fought in Sicily.

With thanks to Mark Boulton.

Jim Stockman’s book “Seaforth Highlanders 1939-45: A Fighting Soldier Remembers” was published by Crecy Books in 1987.

Alternative keywords: 6th Seaforths; 6th Seaforth Highlanders; 6 Seaforth Highlanders
Posted in All Posts, Operation Husky - Sicily 1943 | Tagged , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

The Story of Glider 70 – Disaster for Medics in Operation Ladbroke

Waco glider 70 landed in the sea off Sicily. So did the other two gliders full of medical men attached to 1 Border Regiment in Operation Ladbroke. This was a disaster not just for the medics, but also the men they were supposed to care for.

Gliders in Siciy - drowned Operation Ladbroke Waco glider floating near Cape Murro di Porco near Syracuse
Drowned Operation Ladbroke Waco glider. In the background is the ridge of the Maddalena Peninsula (which ends in Cape Murro di Porco) south of Syracuse in Sicily.

Glider: CG-4A Waco 70
Glider carrying: Section of 181 Field Ambulance attached to 1 Border Regiment.

Manifest

.(a) Personnel   (i) Anaesthetist (1)
.               (ii) L/Cpl. Nursing Orderly (2)
.              (iii) Private Nursing Orderly, Clerk (3)
.               (iv) L/Cpl. – 5 Nursing Orderlies –
.                       Stretcher bearers (4 – 9)
.                (v) 2 Stretcher bearers (with
.                     different loads from (iv) (10-11)
.               (vi) 2 Glider Pilots
.Total 1 Officer: 10 O.Rs. 2 Glider-Pilots
.(b) Transport – (i) Handcart
.               (ii) 3 Airborne bicycles

Each man carried a .38 revolver, and two Sten guns were also carried in the glider, presumably for use by the glider pilots.

RAMC Personnel:

Capt. Grahame-Jones
L/Cpl Vincent, H.
L/Cpl Caddick, H.
Pte Cook, R.G.E.
Pte Anderson, J.A.
Pte Phillips, G.
Pte Churm, J.
Pte Oldfield, J.
Pte Kennedy, P.
Pte Cheeseman, R.J.
Pte Smith, H.

USAAF Tug Pilot’s Report

Tug: C-47, 41-18445, 8 Troop Carrier Squadron, 62 Troop Carrier Group, 51 Troop Carrier Wing USAAF.
Takeoff: Between 19:05 and 19:22, from Airstrip C, El Djem No. 2, Tunisia. Priority 24.
Tugs returned: Between 00:38 and 04:15, except one landed at Sfax.Pilot: 1st Lt John A Walker, attached to the 8th TCS from the 7th TCS.

The pilots of 62 TCG must have submitted individual reports at debriefing, but if these were recorded, the document does not seem to have survived. A group report stated:

“Gliders released 2 – 5 minutes late owing to excessive wind. 4 gliders reported released early, but pilots consider they should have reached L.Z.”

Glider Pilot’s Report

Glider allotted Landing Zone: LZ 2.

Glider pilots: Sgt Dilnutt (GPR) & F/O Birdewick (USAAF).

Gliders in Sicily invasion Operation Ladbroke release zone and LZs“When approx off the twin headlands flak came up from there & CAPE MURRO DI PORCO. The tug A/C immediately made a 180° right hand turn & headed East away from land. Tug A/C then ordered release by signal when at 1400 ft. After release glider glided at 75-80 m.p.h. in direction of nearest land, but was unable to reach it & came down in sea approx 4 miles off CAPE MURRO DI PORCO. Glider pilot was unable to recognise any point on land as tug flew Eastwards out to sea prior to release.”

The “twin headlands” seem to be the two points north of Capo Ognina.

The claim that the tug executed a U-turn (180 degrees) towards the east seems to be a mistake, as to do that the tug would have to have been flying due west, when it should have been flying north-east. It seems probable the GP meant 90 degrees, with the tug ending up flying south-east, directly away from land and avoiding Cape Murro di Porco.

The records of 1 Airborne Division show that the US glider pilot was called Birdewick. In fact his name was Arnold Bordewich. A pre-Sicily American newspaper story about GPs training in the US reported that  “Arnie always wore a cheeky grin”.

 Glider 70 Lands in the Sea

Six Waco gliders out of the 135 flying to Sicily on the night of 9 July 1943 were allotted to 181 Air Landing Field Ambulance (22, 26, 30, 62, 66, 70). Three (22, 26, 30) were headed to LZ1 with the gliders of the 2 South Staffords, who were to clear strongpoints on the routes heading towards the Ponte Grande bridge, which in turn had been seized by a separate coup-de-main party. The medics were to set up a dressing station near the bridge. The other three gliders (62, 66, 70) were headed to LZ2 with the gliders of 1 Border Regiment, who were to cross the bridge and capture the outskirts of Syracuse.

Each trio of gliders had one carrying a jeep (22, 66) designed to act as an ambulance, and another (30, 70) carrying a dozen or so men with a handcart full of medical supplies (Glider 70 was one of these). The third glider with the Borderers (62) carried a stretcher trailer for use with a jeep. Finally, the third glider with the Staffords (26) carried a surgical team, under Captain Guy Rigby-Jones, which was the only glider of the six to reach land.

The five medical gliders that landed in the sea were among about 70 Wacos that did so. There were many reasons for this, and the consequences in pointless loss of life were disastrous, but essentially the gliders were released too low or too far from shore to be able to reach land. As a result, there were not enough men to complete all the Air Landing Brigade’s missions – Syracuse was not taken, strongpoints and batteries remained intact, and finally the men on the Ponte Grande bridge were pushed off it by the Italians.

The lack of medical men and ambulances meant that many wounded were not collected for a day or two. The problem was compounded by the fact that the gliders were widely scattered (few reaching the LZs), and many GPs had their legs broken when their Wacos hit one of the many stone walls favoured by Sicilian farmers. In the days before penicillin, such injuries, if unattended, could result in gangrene and death.

Paradoxically, as one senior medical officer observed, the number of gliders that landed in the sea reduced the number of wounded on land that the greatly reduced medical resources had to care for. His grim point was that the medical men that did arrive worked wonders,  but with many more wounded, it could have been a medical disaster. It was also lucky that the advancing seaborne forces could loan ambulances, and that Italian ambulances were captured.

In the case of Glider 70, the British glider pilot and six RAMC men survived and were picked up by HMS Beaufort, a destroyer on anti-submarine patrol near the cape. Beaufort had spotted gliders in the water the night before, but she did not stop until the sun was well up, some nine hours later. Many glider men must have drowned because their potential rescuers had higher priorities in the brutal business of war.

The officer ended up on another warship, where he acted in his role as anaesthetist, returning to the airborne base in Tunisia on the 12th. The other survivors were transferred from Beaufort to HMS Sutlej and taken to Malta, where they joined many other glider men who had been rescued from the sea.

The Missing from Glider 70

That left five RAMC men and one US glider pilot unaccounted for. After the battle, enormous efforts were made to find out what had happened to the missing men. What follows is an account by Caddick, submitted as part of the investigation:

Grave of unknown glider soldier from Operation Ladbroke in Syracuse war cemetery in Sicily
“Known unto God”. Kipling’s majestic phrase serves as epitaph on the grave of an unknown glider soldier in the Commonwealth War Cemetery at Syracuse in Sicily.

“Our glider crashed into the sea some four or five miles from the shore. We released the glider doors and every occupant of the glider was able to get out. My first impulse was to get away from the wreckage, but when I realised that it was still afloat, I swam back and climbed on to it. We then ascertained how many men were safely aboard the wreck, and the above men were missing.

“The glider pilot then informed us that his American co-pilot, together with three of our men had decided to attempt to reach the shore. After being in the sea for about half an hour, we heard three people crying for help. Two of the voices were recognised as Pte. Smith’s and Pte. Kennedy’s. We shouted and flashed a torch but they were unable to reach us owing to the roughness of the sea. They continued to cry for help, but then we heard a choking noise, and the cries ceased.

“Nothing at all was seen of Pte. Cheeseman after we had all scrambled out of the glider. But the three men who followed the pilot must have been Ptes. Churm, Oldfield and Kennedy. The latter evidently changed his mind about trying to reach the shore and attempted to get back to the glider. The third voice we heard and were unable to recognise may have been Pte. Cheeseman, but it is extremely unlikely, as he was a non-swimmer, and no one in the glider had time to fully inflate his life-belt. It is more than likely that it was either Churm or Oldfield also trying to rejoin the glider. Therefore it appears that Ptes. Smith H., Kennedy and Cheeseman were drowned possibly, whilst the happenings to Ptes. Churm and Oldfield are uncertain.”

Vincent and Anderson were interviewed nearly a year later, and their account was summarised:

“The following men were not seen after the glider hit the water :
Pte CHURM J.
Pte OLDFIELD J.
Pte SMITH H.
Pte CHEESEMAN R.
Pte KENNEDY P.
American Bomber pilot acting as co-pilot.
All men were definitely out of the glider before it settled down in the water. L cpl VINCENT was the last to leave the glider. They do not know the names of the pilots.”

Some bodies of drowned men floated into the shore for days after the invasion, and were presumably ultimately buried in the Commonwealth War Cemetery at Syracuse. Many men, however, were never seen again, and they are remembered on the memorial at Cassino.

 For other in-depth stories about individual gliders in Operation Ladbroke, click here.

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Glider Pilots to Blame for Operation Ladbroke Disaster? Part 2

The CO of the glider pilots blamed their ‘limitations’ for the ‘near disaster’ of Operation Ladbroke. That was later. What did he say at the time?

A burned-out Waco glider in Sicily, forlorn symbol of the shattered hopes for Operation Ladbroke.
A burned-out Waco glider in Sicily, apparently a forlorn symbol of the shattered hopes for Operation Ladbroke. In fact the glider was landed perfectly, as the easily-broken undercarriage is still in position.

In Part 1 we saw how Operation Ladbroke, the glider assault that opened the invasion of Sicily in July 1943, was a last minute decision. It left little time for training. During the operation things went badly wrong. Roughly half the gliders landed in the sea,  and hundreds of men drowned. Most of the rest of the gliders got nowhere near their designated landing zones (LZs).

George Chatterton, the Commanding Officer of the Glider Pilot Regiment, wrote in his book ‘The Wings of Pegasus‘ (published in 1962): “I was under no illusions concerning the main reason for the near-disaster [of Operation Ladbroke]. Whatever mistakes I may have made, and no doubt I did make many, what I could not help was the limited training and, therefore, the limitations of the glider pilots.” The charge to be answered is that the limited training of the glider pilots was the main factor in the near-disaster. The key question is whether the accusation is true. But before examining that, there are other questions. Did Chatterton believe the accusation in 1943, and if not, why did he make it in 1962?

The context of the accusation in his book, published 19 years after Operation Ladbroke, may give some clues. He records that on landing in Tunisia after returning with the glider troops from Sicily he was ordered: “On no account will you allow any of your officers and men to get into any argument with the Americans about this operation.” He said he was given no reason for this, but that there were “many unpleasant rumours in the air that they [the American tug pilots] let us cast off too early”. He said he tried not to listen to these.

But he did admit to arguing with some of his own men. “Two officers had to be dealt with. Even today, one senior officer (who incidentally took no part in the training or the operation) is a severe critic of mine”. The accusation against his own men is on the same page as these observations and follows them.

From this it could seem that Chatterton thought American-British relations governed what could be said or even thought, even nearly twenty years later in 1962, when the USA was still the dominant military partner, this time in NATO. Certainly in 1943 promoting cooperation was a highly laudable and war-winning endeavour, because allies fighting each other instead of the enemy could be disastrous. General Eisenhower had been appointed Commander-in-Chief of the forces invading Sicily less as a battle commander and more as a chairman of the board, and he constantly strove to reconcile the British and the Americans. It is also clear from what Chatterton says in his book that he is defending himself against his critics, especially critics of his training programme.

Report 1 – D Day, 9 July 1943

The above quotations are what Chatterton wrote 19 years after the fact. What did he say at the time? The first of his reports regarding the training of the glider pilots is dated, surprisingly, 9 July 1943. This was the day of the airborne invasion itself, and surely Chatterton had a hundred more important things to do than finish off reports (such as make final preparations for himself and all his men to fly, or to raise the release heights to counter the high winds the gliders suddenly faced that day).

Perhaps the date is wrong. Perhaps the report is an “in case I do not return” document, because Chatterton was flying into danger in Sicily at the head of his men. But he also wrote a last minute report nearly a year later, just before D-Day in Normandy, when he was kept back in the UK. What both the 1943 and 1944 reports do is justify the training, and say how good it was.

Exercise Adam, a month before the invasion, was the first daylight rehearsal for Sicily, when nearly 150 gliders would be used. The rehearsal involved a third that number, 54 gliders. Chatterton wrote in his report that it “was entirely successful in that it showed that both mass take-offs and landings could be effected rapidly and without loss of life”. In the second daylight rehearsal with 72 gliders a week later, Exercise Eve, some gliders failed to make the LZs, but “despite this it confirmed the efficiency of the training methods”. A third rehearsal by moonlight with a mere 12 gliders was meant to prove that another 130 or so could also land successfully. But presumably the best pilots were picked for the 12 planes and gliders, and even so two of the 12 gliders missed the LZ.

Chatterton wrote: “Experiments were made … and it was found that moonlight landings were more simple than was thought at first and that, with careful handling, an aircraft could be put down in pitch darkness without aids.” Later, in his book, he took the opposite tack, and bewailed the immensity of the task that the glider pilots had been set, particularly with regard to “pitch darkness”. He did admit that due to constraints:

“it has been necessary to make major adjustments, which may very easily impair the efficiency of the operation. If this is so, it will not be the fault of any of those serving in The Glider Pilot Regiment. It can only be hoped that, should the cost in lives be great, it will at least be a lesson and that all efforts will be made to see that it does not occur again.”

He finished by saying: “The Commanding Officer [i.e. himself] has every confidence in his pilots … He also has great confidence in Gliders for future operations.” This last comment is telling. Doubts were continually raised long before Sicily about the usefulness and great expense of airborne units, and doubts would be raised again after Sicily. But the Regiment was Chatterton’s project. He had nailed his colours to the mast, and he was presumably keen for the ship not to sink, as it would take his captaincy with it.

Report 2 – After the Debacle

His next report was just over ten days later, after returning from Sicily to Tunisia. Ten days is a long time in war, and in this time not only Operation Ladbroke but also the airborne operations Fustian, Husky 1 and Husky 2 had all gone wrong in their own spectacular ways. Planes were shot down by Allied guns, or were scattered by bad navigation, and some troops landed in the lap of an elite German paratrooper formation. Chatterton himself, piloting Waco 2 in Operation Ladbroke, had landed in the sea. This second report was dated 20 July 1943, three days before a Board of Enquiry convened to discuss the airborne debacles and, by extension, the future existence of the airborne arm.

Chatterton started the report by describing his arrival in Africa four months earlier, when, he said, he had “very reserved opinions of the glider”. These opinions, he said, were based on scientific study and on having flown in almost every combination of glider and tug. This confession is strange, coming from the man who had to train his glider pilots and then lead them into battle. He repeated himself for emphasis: his experiences “made him hold an extreme reserve in the use of the glider”. There was not a hint of this “reserve” in the first report, just before Operation Ladbroke, which had been very confident.

Map of Operation Ladbroke release zone (C) Aurora Publishing
Map of release zone and glide paths for Operation Ladbroke. The release points were 3,000 yards out to sea, which made accurate identification by night extremely difficult.

He went on to repeat that the training and rehearsals, limited as they were by time, had been successes. He then described flying to Sicily and reaching the release zone: “… the moon was poor and gave the Tug ship an impossible job let alone the Glider pilot … for both pilots the arrival in the target area was quite unexpected and presented a position which was immediately designed to upset any plan that might have been set out.” He listed several observations, conclusions and lessons, including the vulnerability of the C-47 and the need for tug pilots to be trained to fly through flak.

Regarding any deficiencies in the training of his glider pilots, however, all he said was that tug and glider pilots needed to know each other better, and: “Tug Pilots and Glider Pilots must have constant practice. This need not be daily but long gaps between flying must not be allowed. Tug Pilots must be trained in night flying and Glider Pilots kept in practice on moonlight landings.” Given enough resources and time, this would no doubt have happened. Note that the tug pilots are included equally with the glider pilots in these comments. There is certainly no hint he thought the glider pilots were chiefly to blame for the Operation Ladbroke mistakes. In fact he elaborated how successful the glider pilots had been in combat, despite all the set-backs.

By the end of the report, apparently vindicated by the combat results, he countered his opening reserve with an optimistic summing-up for the future, saying that in gliders the Allies “have a formidable weapon, which used correctly can prove successful beyond words”. There follows more praise for his glider pilots, as in them the Allies have “exceptional Pilots who can both fly and fight and who have proved their worth“. The report ends with what could seem like bullet points in his own CV – he concluded that the Allies also had, in the Glider Pilot Regiment, “war experienced staff” and “a proved organisation”.

The Memo – Judgement Day

But Chatterton was not finished yet. About two weeks later he wrote a third report, unsigned but surely his, dated 2 August 1943. This was two days after the last day of the Board of Enquiry, and was the same day as the date of “Training Memorandum Number 43” (Memo 43). Memo 43 was the result of the Board of Enquiry’s conclusions about the lessons of Sicily, delivered in the form of an airborne training policy document.

Interestingly, during the enquiry both Major General ‘Boy’ Browning, Eisenhower’s British airborne adviser, and Colonel Ray Dunn, the CO of the US Troop Carrier Wing, admitted to being overconfident and overoptimistic due to what appeared to be the positive progress of training. This optimism is similar to Chatterton’s upbeat assertions in his first report, and raises questions about how all these senior officers came to be so mistaken. Perhaps, faced with no choice, they simply had to be as committed as possible. Once the machinery of something as massive as a major amphibious and airborne invasion was in motion, risks had to be accepted, and forcing yet another total rethink so late in the day was unimaginable.

The only criticism the Board of Enquiry had of the performance of the glider pilots was that they had been trained to land too fast. This increased the chances of a glider hitting something and made the impact worse if it did. Heavy landings also damaged or trapped equipment such as guns and jeeps. When the point came up during the enquiry, Dunn promptly said this policy had already been rectified.

Chatterton had not been called to the enquiry, and there is no record of either of his previous reports being presented. In fact, we do not know if anyone outside his office read any of his three reports. Also we do not know if he had read Memo 43 before he finished his own report, although his main conclusions are very similar to Memo 43’s. What Memo 43 has to say about the tug pilots and glider pilots is worth quoting in full:

“Training for specific operations must cover all details and contingencies, and culminate in a rehearsal of the operation with conditions approximating as closely as possible those of the actual operation. Intensive training in low flying navigation at night, especially over coastlines, must be included. Special attention will be given to the training of glider pilots, including the maintenance of courses despite the effects of adverse winds, and the coordinations between glider and tug in determining the glider release point.

The standard of training of troop carrier crews is the same as that of other operational combat crews. Wherever possible in training for a specific operation the troop carrier crews should make a flight on a bombing mission over the route and area selected for the operation in order to familiarize them with terrain features.”

None of this indicts the glider pilots, and most of it is about tug pilots. Somewhat absurdly, one of Memo 43’s only two glider-specific suggestions appears to be that the glider pilots should handle head winds better. There is in fact nothing a glider pilot can do about a head wind, except maintain ‘Best Gliding Speed’ and avoid manoeuvres that exacerbate the rate of sink, elementary flying skills which the Sicily pilots must surely have possessed.

Report 3 – Riposte to The Memo?

So what did Chatterton’s third report, dated the same day as Memo 43, have to say? He began by admitting his disappointment about Operation Ladbroke, but assessed the operation as follows:

“A most difficult operation was carried out by night and was 75% successful. The 25% failure was mainly due to
1. Weather.
2. Inexperience.
3. The great difficulty of the whole operation.
4. Bad luck – which always plays an important part in war.”

So far, there is no explicit blame for the glider pilots, but we have not yet heard what is hidden under that word “inexperience”. There is also not much sign of “near-disaster”, and if Operation Ladbroke was only a 25% failure, then whatever part the glider pilots played in that through inexperience hardly constituted a major impact on the outcome. He went on to say that the aim of the training had been achieved, despite time being too short. He then appears to contradict this claimed achievement by saying more of the training time should have been spent rehearsing “BY NIGHT AND BY THE COAST” (his capitals), rather than practising elementary flying and converting to the Waco. There had been no full-scale rehearsals over water at night, of course, because of the high risk of serious losses of both men and gliders. Chatterton continued:

“The target area was reached but owing to bad visibility and haze, together with the varying wind, it was very difficult to judge the distance from the shore. The task of the Glider Pilot, therefore, was almost impossible as he could not see the target nor could he guarantee that he had released correctly. At the same time the moon was covered by a thin haze, preventing the pilots from seeing the ground and the task of selecting the correct landing area became increasingly difficult.”

Again, so far it does not sound as if there was anything the glider pilots could have done about any of this, but Chatterton goes on:

“The run-in was extremely difficult and proved that this type of flying needs careful practice. It is easy to misjudge the distance and places on the coast in moonlight. It increased the difficulty of the release of the Glider Pilot. The lack of experience in this type of operation was the chief cause of the plan going wrong … This applies to both Tug and Glider Pilot.”

Finally we have something that sounds like the accusation he levelled in his 1962 book, where he claimed that the main cause of the failures of Operation Ladbroke was the limitations of his undertrained glider pilots. Unlike the book, in the report the tug pilots are included in the charge. Also unlike the book, the third report specifies that what Chatterton found lacking was recognition skills, not flying skills.

Near the end Chatterton says: “the operation must not be condemned out of hand. Generally speaking it was a great success and much was proved. If it went wrong, those who took part should not be blamed – they did their best”. The fault, he said, lay in the past, with a lack of attention and investment, i.e. equipment, training and time. He was sure that if these investments were now made, great success would follow.

It is clear from his three 1943 reports that Chatterton did not especially blame his pilots. He was obsessed with their training, as that was his particular responsibility. So he was continually justifying his training programme or, where it was hard to, because of mistakes, he quite rightly looked for ways to improve in future. He also no doubt felt that he had to sell up the potential of the glider as a weapon of war, in order to secure that future.

Both Memo 43 and Chatterton’s final report emphasised improving the chances of pilots finding the release zone, and, from the release zone, reaching the LZs. To Chatterton this meant the powers in charge should acknowledge their past failure to invest (not his fault), and then, going forwards, to invest in the training that was needed to make these improvements.

Evolution & Devolution of Blame

So how did he get from there to blaming his pilots in his book? The key change is that the tug pilots have vanished from his comments in the book, leaving only the glider pilots to shoulder the blame. Perhaps this was indeed because he felt he dared not annoy the Americans (although he had left the Army shortly after the war, and surely his civilian career cannot have been in jeopardy). Perhaps he did not realise how bad his comments sounded, and thought it was obvious that the limitations of his pilots were not their fault. Perhaps he thought it sounded weak or invidious to blame the tug pilots. Perhaps in justifying his actions he felt he had to point up the limitations and constraints against which he struggled. But it is also possible that he was highlighting the only way in which he could make a difference.

An alternative solution to finding the LZs, for example, might have been to move the goalposts, so to speak. If the route to the target was too hard, or the release points too challenging, or night too difficult, or the LZs (and DZs) too small, or the flak too dangerous, then make the routes idiot-proof, the LZs gigantic, land by day and keep everybody well away from enemy concentrations. This logic seems to have been followed both during some of the Normandy operations and, notoriously, at Arnhem, where many believe the airborne troops landed simply too far away.

But such decisions were beyond Chatterton’s remit, and he could not control them. Nor could he force the tug pilots to improve their navigational skills (indeed, well over a year later the Americans still relied on the same low ratio of navigators as during Operation Ladbroke). What he could control was the internal organisation of the Glider Pilot Regiment, and the training of his glider pilots.

He emphasises both of these things in his 1944 report. And his book emphasises how he carved himself a new role in overall charge, as Commander Glider Pilots, so that he could push through his improvements. He does not go quite as far as saying that his glider pilots’ spectacular feat of flying at Pegasus Bridge in Normandy was entirely due to him, but it comes across strongly that he made the changes, appointed the experts and oversaw the training that made it possible. Certainly, he deserves his share of credit for the outstanding performance of the glider pilots during the war.

This reason, or a mix of some of these reasons, may explain why Chatterton later appeared to lay all the failings of Operation Ladbroke at his own pilots’ door. But, whatever his reasons for saying it out loud, could it in fact be true?

In Part 3: did the glider pilots in fact get it wrong?

A version of this article appeared in “The Eagle”, the magazine of the Glider Pilot Regimental Association.

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SAS Rogue Heroes – Book Review

‘SAS Rogue Heroes’ is a readable and enjoyable account of the SAS in World War 2. But there’s not much about the SAS in Sicily, and what there is, is not great.

Cover of SAS Rogue Heroes - The Authorized Wartime History by Ben MacintyreReview of ‘SAS Rogue Heroes – The Authorized Wartime History’ by Ben Macintyre, published 22 September 2016 by Viking.

[This review focuses mainly on the section about the invasion of Sicily.]

‘SAS Rogue Heroes’ is published by Viking, whose one-liner mission statement appears on its website as:

“We publish books that combine brilliant writing with popular appeal, both fiction and non-fiction.”

And this is what you get with this book: an entertaining read that is sure to be a bestseller.

The author, Ben Macintyre, is a journalist, and indeed there are many gems of journalistic turns of phrase. For example:

“Paddy Mayne, a man with enough internal demons … to populate a small hell …”

Or:

“Stirling was very good at escaping; but he was very bad at staying escaped.”

Students of the invasion of Sicily probably already know Macintyre from his book “Operation Mincemeat”, about ‘The Man Who Never Was’. This is the story of a corpse loaded with misleading intelligence, which was intended to deceive the Axis into believing that Sardinia and not Sicily was the Allies’ next target.

All of the above might make you buy this book.

Not a History?

But if you’re looking for a history book, where you can trace and corroborate statements, then the lack of footnotes citing sources may put you off. There are also unattributed quotations, again frustrating for historians. Macintyre freely admits that ‘this is not a specialist military history but a book for the general reader’. He also points out that it is not comprehensive and he has had to be very selective.

On the plus side, this is not a work of unalloyed and reverential hero-worship – some scepticism has been allowed in. David Stirling’s famous tale of how he broke into GHQ in Cairo to present his founding proposal for the SAS is not swallowed whole. Similarly, Stirling’s story of recruiting Paddy Mayne straight from a jail cell is challenged.

The book’s cover trumpets that this is “The Authorized Wartime History”, “from the secret SAS archives”, which apparently means that the SAS Regimental Association allowed unusual access to its archives. Unwary buyers might infer that this means that the book is an ‘official history’, but Macintyre points out that this is not the case. Nevertheless you might expect the book to contain new material never seen before. It may do, but without cross-checking many other books in great detail, it’s hard to say. It seems to me, however, having read many of those books over the last ten years or so, that there is nothing especially new here, certainly not in the overall shape and feel of the story.

SAS / SRS in Sicily

Regarding the book’s treatment of the area of this website’s special focus (Operation Ladbroke and the invasion of Sicily), I can say with more confidence that there is nothing particularly new. The Sicily section of the book reads like a summary of predecessor books, with some of the juiciest nuggets cherry-picked. All of which, of course, is good for readable, popular histories. But the Sicily story is also in places garbled and misleading.

There are about only six pages devoted to Sicily, including training in Palestine. Of these, about three pages concern 10 July 1943, when the SAS (as the SRS) tackled Italian gun batteries south of Syracuse. Of these three pages, about half describe the assault on the battery on the cliffs at the cape [story], while the other half covers the actions in the Maddalena Peninsula overall.

This last part is the weakest. It’s not clear that there were four batteries in total, nor that the first battery was cleared, and the success signal given, before the second was approached. The statistics given apply to all the batteries, again unclear. It would have been useful if some of the scepticism shown elsewhere in the book was applied to these numbers and some other parts of the tale. Elsewhere, Johnny Cooper is quoted as being in the Augusta landing, when according to his own book he missed Sicily altogether. Finally, a small point, but one which annoys some glider veterans – the glider men are called ‘paratroopers’ in the book. They were not, since the air landing (glider) battalions were not trained in parachute jumping.

None of this should stop you buying the book if you enjoy a gripping story well told. But I wouldn’t recommend buying it just to study its Sicily section.

Links:

See the book on the publisher’s website – here.

Posted in All Posts, Reviews & Profiles, SAS Special Raiding Squadron (SRS) in Sicily | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

The Story of Glider 26 – Combat Medics in Operation Ladbroke

Glider 26 carried a surgical team in the invasion of Sicily. According to contemporary reports, the medics not only saved lives, but they also fought to do so.

Waco glider 26 after landing in Sicily in Operation Ladbroke
Waco glider 26 in a stubble field near a farm outbuilding. Note the young Sicilian man standing hands on hip at left, looking at the glider. The fabric of the cockpit was stripped by hitting a tree and a rough landing. The nose was raised to extract the hand cart. This is the unretouched photo as it appears in the archives, bits of tape, serial number and all.

Glider: CG4-A Waco 26, serial no. 243811.
Glider carrying: Surgical team of 181 Air Landing Field Ambulance.
Troops’ objective: Set up an Advance Dressing Station near the Ponte Grande bridge.

Medical abbreviations:

ADMS – Assistant Director Medical Services
ADS – Advance Dressing Station
CCP – Company / Casualty Collecting Post
RAP – Regimental Aid Post
SMO – Senior Medical Officer

Manifest

Surgical Specialist     )
2 Op Rm Assts.          )     Surgical Team
2 Nursing Orderlies     )
1 General Ord.          )
Cpl Stretcher Bearer
2 Stretcher Bearers
Cook.
Driver Mech R.A.S.C.
2 Glider Pilots
Weight: 2,475 lbs.
1 Handcart with medical stores
Weight:   400 lbs.
Guns, Sten, Mk II       2
Magazines for           10
Total:  2,875 lbs.

Known passengers:

Capt Guy Rigby-Jones, Surgical Specialist
L/Cpl Fred J Budd, Medical Orderly
Pvt Victor N Winter
Pvt F Martin
Pvt Arnold P Jackson

Other possible passengers:
Capt J G Jones
Cpl A Buscaglia
L/Cpl M Ginsberg

In addition to the six-man surgical team and the three-man stretcher-bearer team, the passengers include, interestingly, a cook and a driver.  Although a cook might not be one’s first thought for inclusion in a dressing station’s personnel, the need of those being operated on for special dietary considerations seems obvious with hindsight.

The driver was presumably included because the intention all along was to commandeer Italian ambulances. Other medical gliders contained jeeps, or “blitz buggies” as they were known at the time, which were the only vehicles that could be landed by Waco to act as ambulances, and these were accompanied by their own drivers. But they were small and in any case were lost when their gliders came down in the sea. But no Italian vehicles were used until the day after D Day (D+1). Instead the best that could be managed at first was a Sicilian donkey cart. Perhaps the medical team’s Driver Mechanic RASC was assigned to “drive” it.

USAAF Tug Pilot’s Report

Tug: C-47 or C-53, serial 41-18418, nose (squadron) number 61, second plane of four in element 7,  12 Squadron of 60 Group of 51 Troop Carrier Wing USAAF.

Takeoff: Planned c. 18:54 from Airstrip A, El Djem Base, Tunisia. Priority 22.

Pilot 1st Lt Sidney Slotoroff: 

“Hit release point. Did not vary course. Released at 2237 hrs at 1800 ft.”

“Saw some machine gun fire and light flak.”

Crew:

Co-pilot: 1st Lt Clyde W Saunders
Air Engr: Sgt Joseph A Serosky
Rad Oper: Cpl Herbert A Rhoads

Gliders in invasion of Sicily Operation Ladbroke release zone map

Slotoroff’s after-action report, even by the terse standards of the night, was one of the briefest. As with any aircrew debriefing after an eight hour night combat flight, the men would have been exhausted, and being marched in to talk to the intelligence officers immediately after landing was probably not on their wish-list.

Slotoroff‘s aircraft, number 61, crashed and burned four days later while full of British paratroopers during Operation Fustian, the assault on the Primosole Bridge. It had presumably been hit by enemy, or, sadly, friendly AA fire. The bodies were so badly burned that many could not be identified. The US crew must have died along with their British charges. This was not, unfortunately, an isolated case, and the fact that many US pilots died flying through point-blank AA fire during Operation Fustian stands against charges of cowardice levelled against them by some after Operation Ladbroke.

Glider Pilots’ Report

Glider allotted Landing Zone: LZ 1.

Glider Pilots: S/Sgt Walter Naismith & Sgt Coppack:

“Considering weather, good tow. Glider was cast off early by tug at 2230 hrs at 2000 ft and approx. 3000 yds off shore. Glider made successful landing approx. 1/4 mile short of L.Z.”

According to plans, the glider was supposed to be released at about 22:22, so it’s not clear at first what “cast off early” means, as 22:30 is later, and Slotoroff, the tug pilot, reported the release as even later, at 22:37. Also both the height and distance from shore were in line with plans. So it seems that the GPs meant that they had been unilaterally released by the tug without their agreement. The fact that this happened at all to quite a few gliders has been the source of much controversy over the years. However the glider made one of the best landings of the night, in terms of closeness to the LZs, so clearly the tug pilots made the right choice.

Landing

Glider 26 landing spot in Operation Ladbroke (C) Aurora Publishing
Green marks the spot. Glider 26 landed between LZs 1 and 2

Glider 26 landed in a flat, open, stubble field only 250 yards from the south-west corner of LZ 2. It made one of the most accurate landings in the brigade, only 400 yards from the edge of its target LZ, LZ 1. It broke its right wing when it hit a tree and lost its wheels on touching down, but it landed successfully only feet away from the outbuilding of a farm. The nose, despite being seriously damaged by the landing, was raised to remove the handcart.

1st pilot Walter Naismith (who died in 2011) was later recorded in a video interview. In it he describes, wryly, how hard it was in the darkness to  know how low they were, until his second pilot reported that they had just flown past a tree. Suddenly another tree appeared right in front of them. Naismith tried to pull up, hit the tree, and then “mushroomed / pancaked through the branches” into the ground. He chuckled at the memory of his relief that everybody survived this scrape unhurt.

A inspection report at the time gave more details:

Struck trees while making its landing approach and apparently stalled onto the ground. The glider ground-looped 90 degrees. The force of the landing buckled both lift struts, washed off both landing gears. The wooden structure on the nose section was completely disintegrated”.

Glider 126 landed only 100 yards away.

There was a large pillbox behind barbed wire about 500 yards to the south of Glider 26, but otherwise there seem to have been no enemy in the vicinity.

Actions

Unlike many of the gliders, there is quite a lot of detail available for the story of Glider 26. The key sources are reports by Col Eagger (the ADMS of 1 Airborne Div) and Lt Col Warrack (the SMO of 1 Air Landing Brigade), and medal citations for Rigby-Jones and Winter,  written at the time. There are also books by Howard Cole and Niall Cherry, who gathered personal reminiscences after the war (see below for more information).  Reports and reminiscences of course are rarely complete, crystal clear or even in agreement, so there are still uncertainties in the tale.

After landing, the party under Rigby-Jones took their handcart and headed north towards the farm building that had been chosen as the place where they would set up their ADS. It was near the main road and not far from the Ponte Grande bridge, so it was well placed to handle casualties from either the bridge ahead or the LZs behind.

Here Rigby-Jones found that the farm was only 300 yards from a still-functioning Italian roadblock and strongpoint, which was codenamed Walsall. Walsall featured a pillbox and a tall tower (in fact an inland lighthouse) surrounded by barbed wire. The tower was armed with machine guns and had clear views of the farm from across a shallow valley. The medical team dug in and waited. Gradually fighting troops of the glider brigade caught up. These men launched an unsuccessful attack on Walsall, and then decided, just before dawn, to go round the strongpoint and head on to the Ponte Grande bridge. They left their wounded with the medical team.

Although the farm had been chosen as the site for an ADS, where surgical operations could be performed, it seems that due to damaged and missing equipment it never progressed much beyond acting as a RAP, administering first aid. And at first, even before that, it was merely used as a CCP, where wounded men were gathered to await help. By dawn the medical men were in the farm and wounded were coming in, but Warrack’s report says that it did not open as an ADS until 6pm, well after Walsall had fallen and the area was secure.

Before that, however, the farm came under attack from Italian troops. Different sources give different times for this attack, ranging from morning to afternoon. It could have come from a variety of sources. Walsall and the area around it were defended by the 1 Company of the Italian 385 Coastal Battalion, with support from an additional machine-gun unit. During the night and early morning various fighting patrols and other detachments from 1/385 were sent out to clear the area of glider troops. Later in the morning, Italian regular (not coastal) troops and  reinforcements poured into the area from the north. Then, in the afternoon, Italian coastal troops from further south were forced back through the area by British seaborne troops.

The British walking (and even crawling) wounded at the farm had been deployed in its defence, and the influx of Italians led to a battle. Despite officially being non-combatants (see below), the medical team fought, helping in the defence using their pistols and captured weapons. The following excerpts from medal citations for two of the Field Ambulance men give a flavour of the action:

Guy Rigby-Jones (Military Cross):

“this medical detachment, now increased by four combatant soldiers, was waiting in a farm when it was attacked by about 30 Italians … Captain Rigby-Jones decided to counterattack and himself gave covering fire to a party moving round from a flank before he joined in the assault. The enemy were driven off leaving several dead and wounded and 12 prisoners in our hands.”

Victor Winter (Military Medal):

“in the counter attack which followed this soldier volunteered to take his place in the assault party which was to attack the enemy. Armed with a captured enemy carbine and a knife, Private Winter was in the forefront of the attack.”

It seems the medical team took lives, but they also probably saved many, including enemy, both at the farm and later in a hospital in Syracuse. At the farm they treated about 50 soldiers: 24 airborne, 5 seaborne and 20 Italian. In Syracuse they worked for 10 hours, performing 22 operations.

The SMO’s Report

Part of Warrack’s report follows, and gives an overview of 181 FA’s actions:

“6 gliders became safely airborne by 1900 hours on 9 July & proceeded to SICILY – the journey was very bumpy. All gliders were cast off within a radius of 10 miles from the coast. One was close enough to make a safe landing – the remainder landed in the sea.

The glider which landed safely was that containing the surgical team under Captain Rigby-Jones. He proceeded with his party to the pre-selected area and eventually, after a small battle with the enemy, succeeded in establishing a small Dressing Station and dealt with over 30 casualties. This was in the farm at 127295 [a typo – actually 127285] and was open for about 20 hours until 14:00 hours on D + 1.

Transport in the shape of an ass-cart was procured and Captain Rigby-Jones collected in a number of patients. These were treated and evacuated to 141 Field Ambulance in transport procured by A.D.M.S. Airborne Division from A.D.M.S. 5 Div. The surgical team opened up and operated in the M.D.S. 141 Field Ambulance in SYRACUSE from D + 1 – D + 2.

Civilian ambulances were procured and used for the collection of casualties on D + 1 and D + 2 by A.D.M.S. and S.M.O. By the end of  D + 2 it was reckoned that all casualties had been cleared into the seaborne Medical Service.

On D + 3 day, the airlanding medical services left the island. 2 officers and 12 O.Rs. of the Field Ambulance embarked.

Casualties sustained by the Field Ambulance
Killed – Nil and 2
Wounded – Nil and 6
Missing – Captain Greeves and 15 O.Rs.

Types of Casualties
It is thought that about 50% of the casualties found were the result of glider crashes – these mostly involved wounds of the lower limbs. “

Non-Combatants?

It is unusual to hear of medical men engaging in combat. They were accorded special protections under the Geneva Convention, and these depended on not violating their non-combatant status. This fact was carefully pointed out in operation orders, which also mentioned that breaching the rules jeopardised the lives of everybody in the medical services.

Nevertheless most sources mention the medical men fighting for the farm. There seems to have been little concern about the fact that the medics fought. In fact, Warrack’s report recommended:

“It is considered essential to arm each RAMC glider party with offensive weapons as well as with pistols.”

In his report, Eagger strongly disagreed. He pointed out that there was no evidence that any British medics had been knowingly and deliberately attacked. He was probably right. The farm was out of sight behind an orchard and trees, down a long drive away from the road. Also, there were fighting men without Red Cross armbands who were outside and would have been the first to be encountered by the Italians. There is no mention of the farm flying a Red Cross flag.

Finally there is the report by Lt Col Walch, one of the founders of the British airborne forces alongside his boss, Major General ‘Boy’ Browning. Browning had been assigned as airborne advisor to the Commander in Chief, General Eisenhower, and Walch went with him. Despite his senior HQ status, Walch managed to get a plane and glider to take him on Operation Ladbroke, but in a strictly observer capacity. Nevertheless, Walch reached the Ponte Grande, passing the RAP / ADS as he did so, and became senior officer at the bridge during the battle. He was full of admiration for the initiative shown by the glider men, but noted that their action was unorthodox:

“Another (somewhat irregular) instance of resource was that of a surgical team who carried out a spirited attack with pistols before getting their own role organised.”

The Landing Site Today

Pillbox near landing site of Waco glider 26 in Sicily during Operation Ladbroke
The large pillbox at the south end of the field where gliders 26 and 126 landed.

Until only a few years ago the scene of Glider 26’s landing was almost unchanged since the time of Operation Ladbroke. Now extensive building of new houses and roads, plus new farming techniques, has changed the look dramatically. The farm is still there, but whenever I have passed the field it has usually been covered with plastic tunnels instead of stubble (the farm is private and did not welcome my curiosity when I knocked). The pillbox is still there, and an electricity substation in a small tower that was present in 1943 completes the picture.

(Observations accurate at the time they were made, although things may since have changed).

Books

Books about the British airborne medical services in WW2 (still available at the time of writing):

  • Niall Cherry, “Red Berets and Red Crosses”, second edition 1999, Sigmond Publishing. This can be ordered directly from the author: arnhemdescent@gmail.com
  • Howard Cole, “On Wings of Healing“, 1962, reprinted 2009, Naval & Military Press

 For other in-depth stories about individual gliders in Operation Ladbroke, click here.

Posted in All Posts, Battlefield Visits, Glider Stories, Operation Ladbroke - Sicily 1943 | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 15 Comments

Glider Pilots to Blame for Operation Ladbroke Disaster?

After the failures of Operation Ladbroke, recriminations flew in every direction. The glider pilots were not exempt. Surprisingly, their own commander later blamed them the most.

A burned-out Waco glider in Sicily, forlorn symbol of the shattered hopes for Operation Ladbroke.
A burned-out Waco glider in Sicily, apparently a forlorn symbol of the shattered hopes for Operation Ladbroke. In fact the glider was landed perfectly, as the easily-broken undercarriage is still in position..

“It was … the nearest run thing you ever saw in your life”, the victorious Duke of Wellington famously said after the Battle of Waterloo in 1815. The same could be said about the Battle of Waterloo Bridge in 1943, when glider troops, including glider pilots, captured the Ponte Grande bridge south of Syracuse in Sicily. The bridge was codenamed Waterloo, and the glider men, although ultimately forced to surrender, heroically held it against the odds just long enough to prevent its destruction by the Italians. But the cost was terrible. Scores of gliders landed in the sea and hundreds of men drowned. Were the glider pilots to blame?

At first, no glider assault was planned for Operation Husky, the invasion of Sicily in the summer of 1943. The focus was entirely on paratroops carried in troop carrier planes. So much so, that Allied senior commanders agreed early in 1943 that the success of the entire invasion would depend on the skill of the troop carrier pilots. The logic was as follows.

The Italians were fighting hard in North Africa and could be expected to fight just as hard for their homeland, where they would also be backed by crack German divisions. It was crucially important to capture ports rapidly so that the landings could be shored up against counterattacks from strong Axis mobile units. But the ports were too heavily defended to be attacked from the sea, so they would have to be attacked from the land by troops coming ashore at nearby beaches. So it was essential get the troops off those beaches quickly.

But these beaches were thought to be stiff with mines, barbed wire and concrete pillboxes, and covered by coastal gun batteries. It was believed that naval gunfire and air attack were, for various reasons, unsuited to the task of suppressing the beach defences effectively. Therefore, the beach defences must first be “softened” by airborne troops. This meant that paratroopers would first have to be delivered to drop zones (DZs) near the beach defences, so they could complete the “softening” before the naval landing craft approached the shore.

But the paras would have to be dropped at night at the last possible moment, so as not to lose too much of the element of surprise. This meant there was no margin for error, and pin-point accurate navigation was required from the pilots of the troop carrying planes. Otherwise the paratroopers would not reach their targets in time to make any difference. And this was why the entire invasion was thought to hinge on the navigation skills of the transport pilots.

For airborne support was deemed “vital”. In this context, Major General ‘Boy’ Browning later ruefully described “vital” as “that dangerous word”. He was the founder of the British airborne forces and ex-commander of 1st Airborne Division, which was providing the British paratroops and glider troops for Operation Husky. He was poached from the division to become Airborne Adviser to the Commander-in-Chief of the invasion of Sicily, General Dwight Eisenhower. Eisenhower had signalled the Chiefs of Staff as early as February: “Consider that employment of 5 Parachute Bdes [brigades] is essential part of present outline plan. If Allies resources will not meet requirements stated above, effect on plan & chances of success must be examined without delay”.

There were grave doubts. The Allies chief planner reported that he “was seriously disturbed by a report given him by his senior air staff officer to the effect that, from the point of view of night flying & navigation training, it would not be possible to use paratroops in the method envisaged”. Browning himself thought the “softening” plan was crazy, but it was not his call. Instead he was left with the job of trying to chivvy along that vital training.

Transport Pilots

Most of the available US transport crews had little or no operational experience of airborne assaults (the US was providing the bulk of the planes, because there were not enough British ones). Some of these planes had dropped paratroopers during Operation Torch, the American landings in North Africa, but here, as Browning noted, “In spite of the gallant efforts of the aircrews, the drops were inaccurate and men widely dispersed”. The problem was that the main function of the transport planes was transport, not combat. Browning later quipped: “It is very difficult for crews who have been taking up squadrons’ pianos & easy chairs to suddenly switch over to operations”. This was unfair, especially the implication of a frivolous lifestyle, as any officers’ mess anywhere aspired to such things. In fact the transport planes’ day to day tasks were critical to the war effort, and little time was spent ferrying their own units. Browning was clearly exaggerating for effect, but the basic point held – it would indeed be difficult to switch from ferrying to combat.

The US transport pilots were mainly used to flying by day, well away from enemy threats, using direction-finding radio signals and homing beacons. Most crews did not even have a navigator. This lack of navigators would force the planes to fly to Sicily in tight formations of four, with the only navigator in the lead plane. If a formation broke up from mistakes, bad weather or enemy action, then three planes could get lost. Clearly, even with a navigator, crossing a coastline largely devoid of unique landmarks, at night, dropping paratroops in a tiny area of enemy territory, blinded by searchlights and being shot at, after a journey of hundreds of miles over water, was a task that would require a great deal of preparatory training. Also, formation flying is not easy, especially at night, and that would require lots of practice too.

But it wasn’t just that there was a shortage of suitably trained and experienced aircrew. There was a shortage of transport planes overall, and every one, whatever the skill of the pilots, would be needed. The British, with their straitened wartime economy, had never developed a specialist transport aircraft, and were reliant on obsolete or obsolescent bombers for parachute dropping and glider towing. These were only grudgingly released from the strategic bombing offensive against Germany, so there were not many of them. Instead both the US and British airborne forces depended heavily on American C-47s (known to the British as the “Dakota”). Based on the DC-3 civilian airliner, these were adapted both to carry paratroopers and tow gliders.

Thanks to America’s massive industrial capacity, the C-47 was available in much greater numbers than the parsimoniously parcelled-out British bombers, but in the Mediterranean the C-47s were already fully employed transporting freight and ferrying important personnel. The number that could be spared for airborne work was still not enough to carry all the paratroopers the planners wanted, and this led to the invasion being phased in stages, with first the British using them and then, on another day, the Americans. This was so that the aircraft which survived dropping paras on the first day could drop further waves on subsequent days. The bottom of the barrel was scraped in an attempt to find more planes. Suggestions included curtailing freight shipments over the Himalayas to China and reducing the scheduled civilian flights of BOAC (the forerunner to British Airways).

The Plan Changes

Such was the importance of the airborne role in the plan that the date of the entire invasion was worked out to suit it. The need to avoid losses among both the planes and the paras dictated a night drop. The Navy and Army wanted no moon during the seaborne landings, so they could approach in darkness and make less obvious targets. However the transport pilots needed as much moon as possible to help find the DZs and drop their paras accurately. So a compromise was chosen, with a crescent quarter moon at the time of the airborne drop which would have gone down by the time of the seaborne assault some five hours later.

This was an unhappy choice for both parties. The quarter moon did not give the pilots enough light on the first night, while the Navy ships had to stay just offshore for several days and would be lit by the growing moon, making them easy targets for nightly Axis air raids, which in turn would be harder to spot and destroy. This compromise narrowed the possible dates to a few days roughly a third of the way into each month. Prime Minister Winston Churchill asked for June, but there was no way the airborne (or even seaborne) divisions would be ready by then, so D Day Sicily was finally set as 10 July 1943.

At first, while the initial planning was being undertaken, there was still heavy fighting in North Africa. The Allied generals who would be commanding the US and British task forces in Sicily were too busy commanding their armies in Tunisia to give any time to planning the invasion. It was not until late April, with the end in Tunisia clearly in sight, that General Bernard Montgomery, commander of the British 8th Army, got seriously involved. He strongly objected to the Sicily plan and, amid much uproar, forced it to be recast. It was at this time that the role of the airborne changed.

No longer were the airborne troops to be landed behind the beaches to “soften” the defences. No longer would the British get all the planes to themselves at the start of the invasion. Two thirds of the available planes were given to the US 82nd Airborne Division for drops at the same time as the British airborne drops, but in a different sector. The greatly plane-depleted British airborne were now divided up to be dropped on three successive nights to hold open three bridges and the approaches to three Sicilian ports: Syracuse, Augusta and Catania (these towns were codenamed Ladbroke, Glutton and Fustian respectively). The ports were desperately needed so that shipping could quickly land enough supplies and reinforcements to keep the British bridgehead safe from counterattack, and to keep it expanding.

Map of Operation Ladbroke release zone (C) Aurora Publishing
Map of release zone and glide paths for Operation Ladbroke. The release points were 3,000 yards out to sea to protect the tug planes from AA fire.

Under the previous plan, no significant use of gliders had been imagined. Some had been earmarked for landing alongside the paras to bring in anti-tank guns and light artillery. Mainly, however, it had been envisaged that most of the gliders might be used to land follow-up waves of air landing troops on captured airfields to reinforce the bridgehead. Now, following Montgomery’s changes, a far more strenuous role was expected of the gliders.

They were to be used in the front line in the first of the three British airborne assaults. It was another decision reflecting the shortage of transport aircraft and the crucial importance attached to airborne support. The gliders were to be released 3,000 yards out to sea, as this would keep the precious towing aircraft away from anti-aircraft fire, so more would be available for the subsequent parachute drops. These were far more dangerous, as they entailed the planes flying low and slow directly over the DZs in the teeth of point-blank enemy anti-aircraft fire. Losses of planes of up to 50% per mission had been predicted. So the use of remotely released gliders seemed to bring huge advantages in terms of mitigating the shortage of transports. This first operation was named after its target: Operation Ladbroke.

Training Time

As if there were not shortages enough already, this late change of plan also meant that there was now a shortage of time to rectify a shortage of practice. Many of the glider pilots had graduated from advanced training in the UK months before, only to find they could not get refresher flights, and many of the rest had only recently graduated from basic training. There was also a shortage of gliders. The Waco gliders, which the Americans were supplying to the British glider troops, were still sitting near the docks in pieces in giant packing crates. Until they were all assembled, no flying could take place, and the time available for training became shorter still.

It was now so late, in fact, that there were only about three weeks from Wacos becoming available in quantity, and training having to stop for rehearsals. Significantly, there was only one period left before the attack when, for a few days, the moon would be in the same phase as on the night of the invasion, and so could be used for simulated practice. Most British glider pilots had never seen a Waco, let alone flown one, and the Waco was different from the British Horsa in several respects, in particular in its style of landing, as it used spoilers not flaps.

Operation Ladbroke, with nearly 150 gliders lined up to go, would be the first ever glider attack by night. It would also be the first mass glider assault by Allied forces, even bigger than the German mass glider operation in Crete in 1941. With the better part of two US and British airborne divisions being employed, Sicily was in fact the first really large airborne assault of any kind by the Allies. The prior parachute drops during Operation Torch had been small by comparison.

This meant that everything was up for grabs, as nobody seemed to know anything. Eisenhower pestered the Chiefs of Staff in Washington DC about the state of training of the US 82nd Airborne Division (then still in the US), wanting to know what it was capable of, so he and his staff could decide how to use it. Urgent messages flashed between senior officers, even airborne specialists, trying to establish the maximum carrying capacity of the C-47 in terms of fully equipped paratroopers (the logic being that if you cannot get more planes, then cram more men into those that you do have).

There was no doctrine regarding mass glider landings by night, other than that they were probably not a good idea, but, if undertaken, would require well trained pilots, at least a half moon and navigational aids in the LZs. Which was not good news for the glider pilots, who had had little night training, and who would be landing in a quarter moon with no navigational aids whatsoever. Suddenly, the success of Operation Husky seemed to hinge not just on the training of the tug pilots, but also on the training of the glider pilots who were to spearhead the entire invasion. The pressure was immense.

In the short time left to them, the British glider pilots would now not only have to convert to the Waco, refresh their flying skills, practise their landings, and master doing all this at night, but everything about the operation had to be worked out from scratch. How should the planes and gliders best be marshalled for efficient take-offs? What formation should they fly in? What route should they take to Sicily? How would they recognise the release points? How could scores of gliders land quickly and safely in a small LZ? At what height and distance should they release? How could the glider and tug pilots communicate? What was the sink rate of a loaded Waco at different speeds? How fast should the Waco be landed? What training programme would best bring about the desired results?

The Americans, in addition to providing nearly all the gliders and most of the planes, pitched in with a will. Under the administrative auspices of the US 5th Army, bulldozers carved airstrips out of the Algerian desert and camps arose, while fuel, vehicles, drivers, mechanics, and ground crew were all supplied. American glider pilots (GPs) acted as instructors to the British GPs (and many later volunteered to fly in the attack). A much smaller contingent of RAF aircraft arrived. They were part of 38 Wing, which back in the UK was responsible for glider training, so its officers had ideas, despite limited operational experience, about how things should be done. Not surprisingly, however, considering who was now hosting the party, the officers of the American Troop Carrier Command were not keen on being told what to do.

Chatterton

But the main burden for the planning and training fell on the British 1st Airborne Division, in particular on its CO, Major-General George Hopkinson, and the CO of the 1st Battalion of the Glider Pilot Regiment (GPR), Lieutenant-Colonel George Chatterton. Quite apart from his role as a commanding officer, Chatterton is significant in the history of the GPR because he wrote one of the earliest and most seminal books about the regiment, “The Wings of Pegasus”, published in 1962.

It was in this book that Chatterton said of the failures of Operation Ladbroke: “I was under no illusions concerning the main reason for the near-disaster. Whatever mistakes I may have made, and no doubt I did make many, what I could not help was the limited training and, therefore, the limitations of the glider pilots.”

This seems an astonishing statement for a commander to make about men who were, after all, not just “the” glider pilots, but his glider pilots. There is no sign here of commonplace notions such as where the buck stops, or leaders falling on their swords. Following Ladbroke, others had more understandably pointed the finger at the glider pilots. Both RAF and American airmen said some glider pilots turned the wrong way or made unwise manoeuvres after being released. The glider pilots accused the American tug pilots of being afraid of flak and ditching them to drown in order to save their own skins. The Army blamed the flyers and the flyers blamed the Army. The Americans blamed the British and the British blamed the Americans. But if there was one person you might think you could expect to go to bat for the glider pilots, it was their commanding officer.

Map of Operation Ladbroke routes (C) Aurora Publishing
The Operation Ladbroke gliders were flown from Tunisia to Malta before turning for Sicily. This was meant to help with navigation, as Malta was lit by six vertical searchlights, but the wind was so strong that some tugs missed Malta altogether.

Instead Chatterton cited the “limitations” of his men as the “main” reason for the “near-disaster”. At first glance this seems unlikely. The debacle of Operation Ladbroke was, as in all the best foul-ups, caused by a perfect storm of misjudged decisions and unfortunate circumstances, any one of which alone might not have led to calamity. The tug crews had direct orders to release the gliders if the gliders did not release themselves, and they had clearly been ordered to preserve their planes for the coming operations. The landing zones were the best available (as Chatterton agreed), but full of hazards. Navigation aids were dismissed for a variety of reasons. Apart from the RAF bomber crews, nobody had much experience at night. The American transport pilots had little or no combat experience, and did not have enough navigators. Due to the late hour at which the operation was confirmed, training time was indeed limited. During the landings the minimal light of the crescent moon waxed and waned as hazy cloud covered and uncovered it. The weather turned against the Allies in other ways, and a near gale was blowing against the gliders as they released. Chatterton (who was frequently accused of worrying excessively) admitted that he had dithered over raising the release heights to compensate for the wind, and had left it too late. Those release heights were perilously low in the first place, deliberately so, again for a variety of what appeared, at the time, to be sound reasons.

Nevertheless the charge is that the limited training of the glider pilots was the main factor. The question is whether the accusation is true. And if not, why did Chatterton say it?

In Part 2: Post-mortems for Operation Ladbroke.

A version of this article appeared in “The Eagle”, the magazine of the Glider Pilot Regimental Association.

Posted in All Posts, Operation Ladbroke - Sicily 1943 | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Unseen US document reveals impact of glider battle at Maleme

Glider troops of Germany’s airborne forces landed around Maleme Bridge in Crete in May 1941. They were decimated. The Germans decided never again to mount a major airborne assault. The Allies drew the opposite lesson, as a previously unseen American document shows.

Maleme Bridge and Hill 107, Crete, seen from bridge
Maleme Bridge and Hill 107 in Crete, looking east. It was here that the British defence of Crete and the future of the German airborne forces both unravelled. The airfield is forward and left of this shot, which clearly shows how Hill 107 dominated both the airfield and its approaches. German gliders landed in the river bed both to the left and right of this photo.
"Stand to! The sun is rising red.
Who knows if we will live 
To see it rise tomorrow?"
                  (from the song of the German airborne forces)

For thousands of young German airborne troops who landed in Crete on 20 May 1940, the fatalistic opening lines of their formation song came true. They did not live to see another dawn. Some fell in the sea and drowned. Others fell burning in the holds of their blazing transport planes. Some were shot in their parachute harnesses, or through the flimsy sides of their gliders, as they descended. Some were caught up on olive trees, or injured landing on rough ground, and easily fell prey to their enemies. Many landed among the waiting defenders and in the frantic scramble to get clear of their chutes or gliders were shot point blank. Many, isolated and confused and only lightly armed, were hunted down and killed before they could orient and organise themselves, or find their weapon containers.

Cretan fighting Greman paratrooper - Heraklion National Resistance Memorial
A Cretan civilian fighter in traditional costume clubbing a German paratrooper to death with what looks like a tree branch. From a plaque on the National Resistance Memorial in Heraklion, Crete.

It was not just the British, Australian, New Zealand and Greek soldiers of the island’s garrison who did the killing. Cretan civilians armed themselves with anything to hand and rushed to battle. Old muskets, antique daggers, bread knives, shotguns and agricultural implements in the hands of men, women, and even children, wrought slaughter on the Germans. Stories are told of one Cretan who, in his fury, smashed in the helmet and skull of a paratrooper with a rock.

Despite these appalling casualties, the Germans won the battle of Crete. But precisely because of these appalling casualties, Hitler later told General Student, commanding officer of the German airborne forces, that the days of the parachute and the glider were over. The Germans never used them again in the assault role. The Allies learned different lessons. They concluded that the German glider troops won the battle of Crete by winning the battle of Maleme.  In a lecture from early 1943, American trainee pilots of the US Troop Carrier Command (TCC) were told:

“We learned at Crete that gliders have a part to play and can be very effective, especially since they can land a body of men at one point who are organized, equipped and ready to fight. They are not dispersed over a wide area as are parachutists. Some military men attribute the German success in Crete to glider troops who were successful in establishing the initial foothold at the Maleme airdrome. This is why the Troop Carrier Command, to train and equip troop carrier units, and the Airborne Command, to train and equip airborne troops, were created”.

German Tactics

The German tactics did not rely on glider troops and paratroopers to capture the island by themselves. Instead, their job was merely to pave the way for air-landing troops who would be repeatedly shuttled in troop carrier aircraft to land on the runways of airfields already seized by the paratroopers. The Germans had several hundred Junkers 52 (Ju52) transport planes. Despite this apparent superfluity, the German plans for Crete sought to protect them as much as possible. If the planes were lost in the first waves, they would not be available for subsequent waves, and it was the subsequent waves of air-landing troops who would build up the sheer weight of forces that would allow the Germans to outweigh the defenders’ initial superiority in numbers.

Bofors AA gun at Askifou Military Museum, Crete
Bofors AA gun outside Askifou Military Museum, Crete

To this end the gliders were launched from way offshore to protect the transport planes that towed them (exactly as the Allies later chose to do in Operation Ladbroke). It was also to this end that the primary target of the glider troops was the Bofors 40mm AA guns defending Maleme airfield. Left intact, these might otherwise wreak havoc on the following waves of transport planes carrying paratroopers. The glider men could then provide covering fire for the descending paras, and help them capture the airfield.

Maleme bridge and bed of river Tavronitis
The eastern span of Maleme bridge seen from the river bed of the Tavronitis, which is dry in summer. The river bed is flat and wide. On the left can be seen the banks of the river which provided some cover for the glider troops. The top of Hill 107 is just visible on the left in the far distance.

So the role of the gliders was to spearhead the entire assault. The glider men were the heroes of the assault on Eben-Emael in 1940, and were seen as the elite of the airborne division’s Assault Regiment, itself the elite regiment of the elite airborne forces. Theirs seemed the most dangerous and crucial role.

The gliders landed in the dry, wide bed of the Tavronitis river next to Maleme airfield because it was close to their targets and afforded some cover from the defenders on nearby Hill 107. It also allowed them to seize the bridge and hold it for parachute (and, later, seaborne) forces landing further west, away from the airfield defences. Photographs show at least one glider with its nose on the ramp at the start of the bridge (perhaps the inspiration for the ‘Illustrated London News’ painting showing an Operation Ladbroke glider on the ramp of the Ponte Grande) .

The Battle for Maleme

Italian 75/18 model 34 mountain howitzer at Heraklion
An Italian 75/18 model 34 mountain gun guards the National Resistance Memorial in Heraklion, Crete. The British and Commonwealth forces had several of these captured weapons, but without gunsights. They nevertheless helped cause havoc among Ju52s landing at Maleme, but not enough to make a difference.

What happened next is well known. The New Zealand soldiers holding Maleme fought doggedly and held out all day, convinced they were winning. Their German enemies also feared they had lost, and awaited with trepidation the inevitable counterattack that would crush them. But, in one of the most extraordinarily tantalising what-ifs of the war, the local NZ commander inexplicably pulled his men off Hill 107 and withdrew, and no counterattack was launched until it was too late. The Germans began landing Ju52s loaded with troops on Maleme airfield. They came under fire from field guns and nearby New Zealanders, and many planes were destroyed, but the damage was done. There on the banks of the Tavronitis river the defeat of the British, Commonwealth and Greek forces in Crete became inevitable.

Lessons for Allied Glider Assaults

The American TCC lecture in early 1943 concluded:

“A large part of Troop Carrier & Airborne doctrine is based on Crete campaign. The lessons are numerous.”

Some of these lessons particularly resonate with the choices made by the Allied planners of Operation Ladbroke, the glider assault near Syracuse in Sicily in July 1943:

“Parachute and glider troops are vulnerable if they come in low near ground defenders, and should not be landed on top of their objectives.

“Gliders are more difficult to destroy in the air than transport planes, and can land with safety to occupants in places where transport planes would crash and burst into flame.

“At Crete, although a number of gliders were badly smashed in landing on rocky ground, they did not burst into flame; other disasters were due to hits in forward ammunition compartments and to mistakes of pilots, tow ropes snapped because pilots made tight turns, and many gliders were released prematurely.”

The author of the lecture talked not just about using airborne forces in rear flank attacks, but also in wholesale airborne invasions. By “invasion” he meant attack and occupation using troops delivered by air alone, as had happened in Crete. He said this was an imminent reality, but clarified that he was talking about the Pacific islands and the war against Japan.

The terrible events in Crete may have put off the Germans, but they had quite the opposite effect on their enemies. The lessons of Maleme made the Allies even more gung-ho about gliders and massed airborne assaults.

Some links:

The area today

Askifou Military Museum

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South Staffords near Syracuse – rare photograph

South Staffords glider troops photographed near Syracuse on the day after the epic battle for the Ponte Grande bridge – a unique picture, a dramatic story.

2nd South Staffords glider troops near Syracuse in Sicily in Operation Ladbroke (C) NAM
A squad of South Staffords glider troops pose by a roadside wall opposite Syracuse cemetery, 11 July 1943, the day after the battle for the Ponte Grande bridge. The man standing with the rifle and bayonet has been identified as Jim Gaunt. The others remain unknown. (Photo: Courtesy of the Council of the National Army Museum, London).

Photographs of airborne troops taken during Operation Ladbroke, the glider assault that began the Allied invasion of Sicily, do not exist. Despite the presence of war correspondents and a cameraman from the AFPU (Army Film and Photographic Unit), apparently not a single shot was taken on D Day, 10 July 1943.

There are a few photos of airborne men taken on 9 July in Tunisia before they took off in their gliders. There are also a couple taken near Syracuse in the days after D Day. One has been lost. Which makes the above recently published photograph unique. Uneventful though the photograph appears, it is rich with connections to the epic events of D Day in Sicily, when airborne troops seized the Ponte Grande bridge south of the port city of Syracuse. They then held it long enough to prevent its demolition. British seaborne troops poured across the bridge to seize the city and its vital harbours. Taken the day after the battle, the photo tells of the trials of Operation Ladbroke.

On the face of it, the photograph shows nothing more dramatic than a group of ten men of the 2nd Battalion of the South Staffords. They are lined up by a low stone wall (it’s still there today). They pose next to an edge-of-highway marker stone, possibly painted red and white. Only major routes in Sicily were metalled and marked in this way. The men are wearing their red berets, proud symbol of membership of elite airborne units. After nearly two days without sleep, including combat and marching miles in the heat, with only a few hours sleep since, the men are probably still exhausted. The photo was taken opposite Syracuse cemetery by a British tank commander. It was taken on 11 July 1943, the day following D Day. It was taken at about 9 in the morning.

The drama is in the details, and the details tell the story of the fight for the Ponte Grande bridge. When the glider troops climbed into their gliders in the afternoon of 9 July on airfields in Tunisia, they were festooned with gear. Their webbing belts and straps carried pouches and packs of every description, including bulging knapsacks and haversacks worn on the back and on the hip, huge pouches at the front stuffed with grenades, and multiple pockets for Sten gun ammunition. They carried numerous weapons, and also other survival essentials such as water bottles and bottles of whisky.

Losses

However not a single man in this photo wears any webbing, unless you count the belt on the corporal standing at the back on top of the low wall. He is the most senior man in the group and, judging also by his stance and dominating position,  clearly in charge. As for the men’s casual state of undress, it would be understandable following a battle, and in the intense heat of the Sicilian summer, but back at base an apoplectic sar’nt-major would have every one of them up on a charge.

The men also seem to have lost their water bottles, which would have hung from their belts. Instead, a gardener’s watering-can sits on the ground at the right edge of the photo, perhaps “borrowed” from the Italian cemetery opposite. One particular must-have is not lacking, for the moment at least: cigarettes. A few men smoke. Given the men’s lack of everything else, perhaps the cigarettes were offered by the photographer. His squadron of tanks was parked nearby, and each tank carried all its crew’s gear. Bringing all your kit with you is easy when you’re mechanised, but the airborne and the seaborne infantry carried everything by muscle power only. Which explains why Italian bicycles, donkeys, mules, horses and carts also got “borrowed” by the men on foot.

So much for accoutrements. As for armament, the situation is almost as bad. One man carries the long British Lee-Enfield rifle. The bayonet is attached, perhaps at the request of the photographer, as hand-to-hand-combat was clearly not imminent. There again, he has no webbing and no scabbard, so where better to keep it. Another man holds a short Lee-Enfield. A third (the man on the right without a beret) has a local Italian hunting rifle. Not a lot for a squad of ten men which would normally expect to have not only a full complement of rifles but also automatic weapons, such as a Bren gun plus a Sten gun or two.

The corporal, who might have started out with a pistol, brandishes an open pen-knife. He does this without any air of mischief or irony, so it does not appear to be a wry comment on his squad’s lack of weapons. Something nestles in his palm behind the knife – fruit from a Sicilian orchard, perhaps? Even when they had their packs and the rations that they contained, British troops gratefully ate the tomatoes, melons and other fruits they came across.

As these men seem to have lost their rations, fresh fruit might have been essential as sustenance, rather than just an almost unheard of luxury. Orders issued to the troops before take-off emphasized that, to stay healthy, they should not drink the Sicilian water until it was treated, nor eat the fruit. From the men’s own accounts it seems that nobody paid much attention. Although it seems improbably fastidious, might our corporal have been peeling some fruit, for safety reasons?

Perhaps these suggestions are fantasy, and in fact the squad has taken off its webbing due the heat and the lack of immediate threats. Perhaps weapons, water, rations, packs and pouches are all piled just out of frame or behind the wall. It’s possible, but a few things indicate otherwise. The unusual presence of the watering can, for one. The lack of belts, for another. But more than any of these, the Italian hunting rifle implies these men had lost everything and were scrounging what they could.

South Staffords in battle

So what had happened to these men, and indeed the other men of the South Staffords, and also of the Border Regiment and glider pilots, who had arrived by glider on the night of 9/10 July 1943? The first misfortune that befell them, and it was a huge one, was that hundreds of them landed in the sea when their gliders were released over the water too far from land. Many men drowned. Many clung to the wreckage for hours until rescued. Many swam for the shore, only to be machine-gunned by Italian pillboxes guarding the coast. Those that survived the swim arrived without equipment of any kind, without boots, and often only in their underwear. Those that were not captured by the Italians joined other groups of airborne men and scavenged whatever they could by way of clothing and weapons.

In terms of keeping one’s kit, things were not much better for the men whose gliders reached land successfully, and who made it to the Ponte Grande bridge. The bridge was first seized near midnight by a single platoon of 30 men from the South Staffords. Their glider alone, out of four gliders assigned to the task, landed near the bridge. During the night and morning another 50 or so airborne troops joined them there, defending the bridge against the Italians. Outnumbered and almost surrounded, running out of ammunition, the glider men were finally overwhelmed.

Before they surrendered, many threw their weapons into the river, to deny them to the Italians. The Italians then removed any remaining weapons, their webbing, personal possessions and watches (not all men wore wrist watches, but the lack of any at all in our photo group is telling). The exhausted men were then marched away. About an hour later they were freed by a forward patrol of British seaborne troops. These rescued men now also became scavengers for weapons and equipment.

Syracuse was captured by the British on the evening of D Day, not a little thanks to the heroism of the airborne troops. In the days that followed, the glider men who survived D Day unscathed were then given lower priority tasks to do, while they waited to be evacuated by sea back to their Tunisian bases. The airborne troops were too highly trained, and indeed too expensive, to be used in front-line infantry combat, once their specialist tasks were complete.

Many glider pilots, for example, were assigned to escorting Italian prisoners-of-war (POWs) back to the landing beaches south of Syracuse, or guarding them at Syracuse railway station, where they were being assembled. The South Staffords and the Borderers were given the task of garrisoning Syracuse while seaborne forces pushed west and north from the city. The South Staffords were given the west side of town to defend, the Borderers the north.

After the Battle

So what is the group in the photo doing? The South Staffords war diary says the battalion was posted west of the town in the area south-east of the railway line. But our squad is well to the west of the railway line, way out on a limb, being at about the 2 kilometre mark on the main road heading west. From a defensive point of view they are not properly equipped and not well placed.

Only a few hundred yards along the road, back towards Syracuse, is an Italian posto di blocco, a cross between a road-block and a small strongpoint. In addition to chicanes in the road to control traffic, these often consisted of a pillbox or two and a field gun. This surely would have made a better defensive outpost. So perhaps the squad is an outlying picket, whose main function is not to fight, but to spot an oncoming enemy and fall back rapidly while giving the alarm.

Perhaps a clue lies in the photographer. Captain Jimmy Sale, who took the photo, was a tank commander in ‘A’ Squadron of the 3rd Battalion of the County of London Yeomanry, nicknamed the “Sharpshooters”. Shortly after dawn on the 11th, ‘A’ Squadron was hurried from its beachhead assembly area north towards Syracuse to support the airborne troops garrisoning the city.

Some of the tanks of ‘A’ squadron had gone into Syracuse to persuade a few Italian troops, holding out in the barracks by the castle, to surrender. The rest of the tanks of ‘A’ squadron formed their first leaguer in the trees opposite Syracuse cemetery. A leaguer was a defensive formation adopted by tank units when behind the front line, especially at night, as tanks were very vulnerable to being stalked by enemy infantry. For this reason it was normal practice to position friendly infantry nearby, to alert, intercept and defend.

However, the lack of weapons and of any defensive position implies the South Staffords were not there as pickets on behalf of either the tanks or the garrison further back near Syracuse.

So perhaps the men were unconcerned with hiding in cover, instead waiting out in the open beside the road, because that was what their orders required. They may have been, like many glider men that day, on POW duty. Our group may have been waiting at the outskirts of town to accept the hand-over of Italian POWs captured by British units fighting to the west.

The front line in that direction was now around the towns of Floridia and Solarino. Italians taken prisoner in this fighting were marched in long columns down the main road back towards Syracuse. Their British escorts from the front line would have been expected back with their units as quickly as possible. So airborne troops would escort the POWs the final stretch to the holding area at the railway station, where the Italians would then wait to be shipped out to camps in North Africa, either from Syracuse or from the beaches.

Many of the men in our photo may have lost close friends the day before, and may have seen sights they wished to forget, but never would. Whatever they were there for when they had their picture taken, it does not seem glamorous, but at least danger does not seem imminent. They might not have said so, but perhaps they were glad for the day’s small comforts (cigarettes, water, safety) after the previous day’s horrors and losses.

The Sale collection of photographs can be seen, along with other County of London Yeomanry archives, at the regiment’s drill hall in Croydon, by appointment only.
It can also be seen at the National Army Museum, which owns the reproduction rights.
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The Airborne Forces Experimental Establishment – Book Review

‘The Airborne Forces Experimental Establishment’ is an academic book in style, but it’s full of interesting nuggets of information about the personalities, politics and technology involved in developing Britain’s parachute and glider forces.

Airborne Forces Experimental Establishment coverReview of “The Airborne Forces Experimental Establishment – The Development of British Airborne Technology, 1940-1950” by Tim Jenkins, published 11 September 2015 by Helion.

‘The Airborne Forces Experimental Establishment’ is written in an academic style. This is both a strength and a weakness. The strength is that there is not much reliance on other people’s books, and there are lots of quotes from archival documents. It also means the book is full of interesting information that you feel you can trust, because it is cited verbatim and fully footnoted, so you can check for yourself, should you want to. The weakness is that the academic style does not lend itself to easy reading. The beginning of the book is the hardest going.

The good news is that things pick up significantly after you get past the opening exposition of the arguments, with its references to the arguments of other academics. Once you get into the meat of the book, the sentences become much more readable and abstraction is replaced with factual information. This information is often used to make an inference or support a theory, but it’s not overdone.

The book’s primary theory is that Britain’s airborne forces were created out of a vacuum by the god-like fiat of Winston Churchill. In a minute dated 22 June 1940 he famously demanded the creation of a force of 5,000 airborne soldiers. Prior to this, nobody had actually examined whether there was a need for them, how they might be used, or whether they could be afforded. The armed forces had not stated a requirement. In particular the development of assault gliders swung into high gear without any consideration of which aircraft might tow them, or where such aircraft might come from. The author maintains that this lack of prior requirement and analysis meant that development was haphazard and lacked direction, and greatly hindered the effective use of airborne forces on operations throughout the war.

If you disagree with this hypothesis, then you get plenty of chances to examine the evidence. The bulk of the book is devoted to looking in detail at how the development of gliders and airborne technology progressed during the war. Sometimes the argument seems a bit thin. There were indeed no suitable British tug planes available for most of the war. The British Horsa and Hamilcar gliders were indeed developed without first considering what might tow them. But like the American Waco, which was designed around the Jeep, the British gliders were designed around what they were intended to carry, i.e. a platoon of men, or a gun and its jeep, or a light armoured vehicle.

Would the designers have seriously compromised what the gliders could carry if they had approached the problem from the point of view of what could tow them? How different would the gliders have been if one particular strategic or tactical use of airborne forces had been stated in advance rather than another? And given the rapid changes of doctrine that war brings about, based on the hard lessons of actual combat, would any pre-stated requirement have remained intact? Military requirements are like military plans, of which it has famously been said: “No plan survives contact with the enemy.”

But the author doesn’t just stop at saying there was no prior requirements analysis, which any business consultant will tell you is indeed A Very Bad Thing. He goes on to say that actually there was a requirement behind Churchill’s apparently irresponsible demand for airborne forces that there were no resources to build. It’s just that the requirements were not operational but psychological and connected with morale.

On the one hand Churchill knew the terrors and doubts that were even then transfixing the British armed forces and the British people. The German airborne operations in the Low Countries (e.g. the glider assault at Eben Emael) had shocked everybody. There was a universal paranoia about imminent airborne attacks on Britain, and hundreds of thousands of men were scattered about guarding positions well away from the front lines because nobody knew where such an attack might come. If the UK had its own airborne forces, they would surely have the same effect on the enemy.

On the other hand, marooned in our island fortress following the evacuation from Dunkirk, there was no way to hit back, it seemed, except by using the RAF. The soldiers of the Army had become increasingly depressed with this defensive posture, the enforced idleness, and the uncertain waiting. The creation of forces like the Commandos, SOE, paratroopers and glider troops gave our men the chance to hit back, and to terrorise the enemy in his own heartland.

The author examines several such operations. One was the glider attack on a viaduct in Italy (Operation Colossus). Another was the glider attack against the heavy water plant in Norway that could help the Germans develop an atomic bomb (Operation Freshman). A third was the parachute raid on the German radar installation at Bruneval in France (Operation Biting). Such strikes boosted not only the morale of the armed forces, but also the morale of the entire population of Britain, and indeed of its allies all around the world.

The detailed examination of these operations in a book that is apparently about the Airborne Forces Experimental Establishment (AFEE) could seem out of place. Indeed, the contents of the book are quite variable. After the opening arguments, there is a useful examination of key personalities who affected Britain’s wartime production process, including Lord Beaverbrook and Churchill himself. Then the time line runs through the antecedents to the AFEE, and some of the scientific personalities involved, with a digression at one point into the origins of military Operational Research. Some of this is very interesting, but comes across in quite a disorganised way. There also seems to be a dichotomy in the book between being a history of AFEE (as implied by the title) and propounding the hypothesis that the lack of a clear requirement hindered Britain’s airborne forces. As it turns out, the book doesn’t quite do either convincingly.

In the end, you could argue that this variableness is irrelevant. The book is packed with interesting nuggets and useful background information that is not readily available elsewhere in books about Britain’s airborne forces. There are also mentions of many developments that were investigated regarding the use of gliders, some of which led nowhere: dropping paratroopers from gliders; rocket assisted take-off; snatching gliders from the ground; the cable angle indicator; a tug to glider intercom; explosive landing arrestors.

It is also surprising to see the extraordinarily long list of aircraft designed for other purposes that were exhaustively tested for use by paratroopers or as glider tugs. It is clear that the lack of transports and tugs bedevilled not only operation after operation, from Sicily to Arnhem, but also the efforts and resources of airborne research establishments for year after year. What might have been developed if the time spent testing tugs was spent on something else? Intriguingly, there was work done early on into “Rotachutes” and helicopters.

It is quite possible to ignore the academic aspects of this book and enjoy it for its numerous examinations of personalities and their rivalries, the stuttering progress of airborne developments, and the weird and wonderful ideas that were entertained. Treat it like a quarry and excavate whatever interests you.

The book on Helion’s website: here.

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Unpublished shot of a tank on the Ponte Grande

A previously unseen film shows what the heroic defence of the Ponte Grande bridge by British glider troops was all about – tanks and vehicles crossing, headed into Syracuse. This is the remarkable story of how that footage came to be taken.

A Sherman tank crosses the Ponte Grande bridge across the Mammaiabica Canal south of Syracuse in Sicily, captured in Operation Ladbroke by glider troops. (C) IWM.
A Sherman tank heads across the Ponte Grande bridge where it crosses the Mammaiabica Canal south of Syracuse in Sicily. Glider troops taking part in Operation Ladbroke prevented the destruction of the bridge and allowed 8th Army to pour reinforcements across it. (IWM photo – for more information, see below)

For the record.

On 9 July 1943, Captain Fletcher of the British Army Film and Photographic Unit (AFPU) was photographed in an olive grove in Tunisia by his colleague, Sergeant Bower. In a few hours Fletcher would be taking off in a glider with British airborne troops who were spearheading the invasion of Sicily in Operation Ladbroke. The operation’s main objective was the capture of the Ponte Grande bridge near the port city of Syracuse.

Fletcher’s orders were to cover this operation, the largest glider assault in the war to date, for the record and for the folks back home. Now, in the olive grove in Tunisia, wearing the maroon beret of the “Red Devils”, he stood at attention while he was clinically photographed from the front [photo], from the side and from the back. This was “for records only”, meaning in this case that the photos were not for publication, and so did not need to be passed by a censor.

In the photos a stills camera is slung around his neck, and he holds a heavy-looking 35mm De Vry cine camera in his left hand. Pistol holster, binoculars, a large water bottle and a small knapsack bulge front and back. Somewhere on his webbing, 1500 feet of 35mm monochrome negative film is stored. On his hip what looks like a map case or clipboard cants out from his belt. If it is a clipboard, perhaps it was used for keeping notes of what was shot, information that would later form the core of the “Secret Dope Sheets” that accompanied the films when they were submitted for development and then censorship.

Bower himself was due to fly a day or two later with British paratroopers who were to capture a bridge near another Sicilian port city, Augusta (Operation Glutton). That operation was cancelled. So Bower frantically pushed to get himself included on the next parachute assault, the attack on the Primosole bridge, near the port city of Catania (Operation Fustian). He got his wish, and on 13 July flew in a Horsa glider carrying a jeep and 6 pounder gun, designed to give anti-tank capabilities to the lightly armed paras.

It was all so rushed that Bower did not get time to properly finish logging the footage he had shot on the airfield before take-off. He had also had to switch hurriedly from his usual parachutist’s 16mm cine camera to the larger 35mm De Vry used by gliderborne photographers. Nearly a week later Fletcher wrote of Bower’s Horsa:

“This Glider with Sergt. Bower inside it has at the time of writing disappeared without trace.”

Back then, as now, cameramen died for the record.

It’s possible that Fletcher was as much a last-minute 35mm cameraman as Bower. A day or two before taking off for Syracuse, he filmed General Montgomery giving speeches to the glider troops of 1 Border Regiment and 2 South Staffordshire Regiment. Fletcher said he operated the camera himself for “much-needed practice”. Given his rank as captain, Fletcher was presumably more used to the role of director than cameraman, a job normally performed by sergeants. It was felt that sergeants would be better able to deal with both officers and “other ranks”, who might be intimidated by officer photographers.

The initial orders for the airborne division showed that it was planned to have two cameramen with the glider troops in Operation Ladbroke on the first day, then one cameraman each accompanying the two parachute assaults on the following days. However, of the camermen scheduled to fly on Operation Ladbroke, Sergeant Spittle of the AFPU “was declared unfit the day before take-off”, and Fred Bayliss of Paramount News was killed in an air crash on his way to join the troops. So even if Fletcher had been expected to go, perhaps at first it was not as a cameraman.

Glider 35

Loading lists for the Operation Ladbroke gliders are confusing, as places for four AFPU men are shown, despite the original plan having specified only two. The lists show that two seats were allocated in gliders 80 and 95 that were carrying Border men, while two more were allocated in gliders 35 and 39 with men of the South Staffords. But we have no records of any cameramen other than Fletcher in Operation Ladbroke, either by name or by having the results of their work.

Of the four gliders, three reached land. The fourth, however, glider 39, was released by its tug, and the tow rope lashed back and damaged an elevator, causing a catastrophic descent into the sea (for more info see here). The records contradict each other, but one interpretation is that everybody in glider 39 drowned, apart from, miraculously, its senior glider pilot, John Ainsworth, who swam ashore and won an MM for his actions that night. So if there was an AFPU man aboard, his equipment probably sank, and he may have been killed.

The tug towing glider 80 got lost off Sicily and returned to Malta before coming back again to Sicily. So glider 80 landed late, but apparently successfully, on or near the appointed landing zones (LZs). Glider 95 also apparently landed OK, and not much further away, on the neck of the Maddalena Peninsula. So if these two gliders had been carrying AFPU men, then they landed OK. But we have no records of their presence in Sicily, nor examples of any photos they took. So perhaps, with Spittle and Bayliss not available, there were in fact no cameramen in gliders 80 and 95. Which meant that only Fletcher was left to capture this historic attack on film.

Fletcher flew in Waco glider 35 with men of the Pioneer Platoon of the South Staffords. He filmed some shots inside the glider. The pioneer opposite him ate what looked like a rock cake and cleaned his Sten gun. The second pilot (in the right hand seat) was black with face paint. However the flight was so violently bumpy (and vomit inducing) that Fletcher gave up on any thoughts of filming the crossing. In any case the sun was setting and darkness soon fell. So he loaded his camera with the fastest film he had, Kodak Super XX, in the hope of filming flares and explosions in the night after the glider landed. The glider touched down well enough, not too far south of the LZs, but its landing run came to an abrupt halt when it hit a stone wall, and three or four men were injured. Fletcher lost his stills camera in the wreckage, and perhaps most of his spare cine film as well, as he hardly shot any footage in the hours and days that followed.

Fletcher explained his lack of exciting action shots:

“The Pln. Commander and the remainder of the glider load did not succeed in joining up with the British forces till the evening of 10th July, by which time the AIRBORNE action was over.”

The 10th was D Day, and the Ponte Grande bridge had finally been captured by the British at about 5pm. Frustratingly for historians, Fletcher does not describe what happened en route, nor does he say where the British forces were met (was it at the bridge?), nor whether those forces were seaborne or other airborne troops. He also does not say what time in the evening they met.

Fighting the Italians

Glider pilot Leslie Howard during training

Parts of the story can be reconstructed from maps, signals and the account of Staff Sergeant Leslie Howard, who was first pilot of glider 35, Fletcher’s glider. More than 50 years later, while visiting Sicily, Howard recounted his memories of what happened. He landed the glider about a mile south of the LZs, which was not bad in terms of distance from the Ponte Grande bridge. Unfortunately it was just on the wrong side of the ring of strongpoints that surrounded the Syracuse Military Defence Zone, and there were two of these strongpoints (clusters of pillboxes surrounded by barbed wire) between the survivors of the crash and their destination, the bridge. Piecing together the evidence, it seems the Staffords pioneer officer led the men north, skirmishing with Italians when they bumped into the edges of strongpoints, but successfully infiltrating between two of them.

Map showing roughly where glider 35 landed in Operation Ladbroke, with Italian strongpoints between it and the LZs.
Map showing roughly where glider 35 landed (glider symbol bottom left), with Italian strongpoints between it and the LZs.

This brought them to a large house where a furious fire fight ensued. The British won the dispute, and the Italians evacuated the building and vanished into the night. Inspecting the house, the airborne men concluded they had just captured a barracks, and they decided to stay and hold the position. Howard later said that seaborne forces in the shape of soldiers of the Green Howards reached them at about 7:30 in the morning, but his recall was off after 50 years.

It was in fact men of the Royal Scots Fusiliers (RSF). The RSF had to push on as fast as possible to reach the Ponte Grande before the Italians could recapture it from the airborne troops holding it, so they asked the Staffords men to garrison the HQ until relieved. Howard recalled that in the end they held the position for two days before they headed up to Syracuse. There he joined the surviving glider pilots who had been assembled at a villa in the town.

Fletcher makes no mention of any of this, and we do not know if he stayed at the Italian HQ with the Staffords pioneers, or if he left with the forward elements of the RSF. Howard’s story of arriving two days after D Day also clashes with Fletcher’s, who says they reached the bridge on the 10th, D Day itself. Even if Howard’s story is correct, it is unclear if “two days later” includes or excludes D Day.

Tanks for the Memory

So what does all this tell us about the photo of a Sherman tank crossing the Ponte Grande bridge, filmed by Fletcher, and shown at the top of this article? The confusion in the records means that it is difficult to put a date on the photograph of the tank, or to identify the unit the tank belonged to. What we can do is tell the time of day when Fletcher filmed the bridge. The sinking sun shines directly down the Mammaiabica canal (in the way that it does in the picture) at around 6pm each 10th of July. You might think this could help a lot – after all, there were not that many tanks in the area at the time, and surely their war diaries would record when they headed into Syracuse.

Unfortunately, just as we are not sure if Fletcher arrived at the Ponte Grande bridge on D Day (the 10th), or on the second day (the 11th), or “two days later” (on the 12th), we have more than one possible time for a crossing by a tank unit. At least we know it cannot be later than the 13th, as in the evening of this day Fletcher boarded an LCI (Landing Craft Infantry) in Syracuse harbour. Along with the rest of the surviving glider troops he was then shipped back to Sousse in Tunisia.

Regarding tank units, British armoured support for the seaborne units of Montgomery’s 8 Army consisted of 4 Armoured Brigade, which in turn consisted of two battalions of Sherman tanks: 3 County of London Yeomanry (3 CLY) and 44 Royal Tank Regiment (44 RTR). Both landed on beaches not far from the town of Cassibile, a few miles south of the glider LZs. 44 RTR got nowhere near Syracuse on D Day, but half of B Squadron of 3 CLY was hurriedly sent up towards Syracuse to support the infantry that had landed earlier.

Since the Ponte Grande bridge was captured by the RSF at about 5pm, and Syracuse was captured about 9pm, it seems possible that Shermans of 3 CLY crossed the bridge at about 6pm on the 10th. However the 3 CLY war diary gives no indication of this (though war diaries are not infallible). Instead it describes how B Squadron advanced north further inland, west of the Ponte Grande. Other Sherman tanks crossed the bridge the next day, the 11th, but much earlier in the day. On 12 July, however, most of the Shermans of 44 RTR finally left their assembly areas near the beaches at about 5pm and reached Syracuse at about 6:30pm, thus making perfect candidates for Fletcher’s filming.

Fletcher later complained that once he had reached Syracuse he could not find any transport, and so was unable to go further afield than the bridge to film any of the other sites of airborne actions. Fletcher’s account was made at the time, and Howard’s 50 years later, so Fletcher’s implication that he reached the bridge on D Day carries more weight. But even if Fletcher did reach the bridge on D Day, he might not have filmed at that point, instead carrying on to Syracuse.

Perhaps it took him two days to cadge a lift from Syracuse and get back to the bridge. Perhaps he waited for the intense heat of the afternoon to cool before lugging his heavy De Vry camera on foot the mile or so from the city to the bridge. Whatever means Fletcher used to get there, we have two front-runner theories: he filmed either a Sherman of 3 CLY crossing on 10 July, or a Sherman of 44 RTR crossing on 12 July.

Either way, finding this film after all these years gives us our first ever photograph of the Ponte Grande bridge as it was in 1943. And not just of the bridge, but also of the highly symbolic drama of a Sherman tank crossing it. The photo shows why the bridge was such an important target – it allowed heavy vehicles to reach the vital port city of Syracuse and quickly expand the bridgehead. The chances of Fletcher catching that dramatic moment were extremely slim indeed, unless he had camped out and waited.

Alternatively it’s possible that he mainly went to the area of the bridge to film the only Horsa glider that landed where it was supposed to (see the story of Galpin’s glider). While there he could see a column of vehicles coming up Highway 115 in the background, and he may have rushed to the canal bank to film the tanks crossing. Whether by skill or luck, or a bit of both, Fletcher did well. He, however, was not happy with his performance. He wrote on the sheet which he despatched with his meagre 100 feet of film stock:

“The accompanying three rolls contain, it is feared, nothing but mediocre and disappointing material.”

The contents of Fletcher’s three film tins may well have disappointed the editors of newsreels, who preferred both more human interest and, especially, more violent action. They hankered for the redoubtable face of the common Tommy, for bangs and flashes, men and machines firing and charging, the heroism of our men, the invincibility of Allied armies, the enemy in defeat, the gratitude of the liberated. Fletcher’s footage never made it into a newsreel, even if it was ever submitted for editorial consideration.

But to historians it’s an extremely precious record. We owe so much to the men who fought for us in WW2. But what would we have of their story without the men, like Fletcher, who also went into battle, not to fight, but for the record?

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Update: A late amendment to the operational orders of 1 Border reads:

“Glider 95 – for one man AFU, read CSM H Coy.”

In other words, there would be no AFPU cameraman in Glider 95.

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Staff Sergeant Leslie Howard’s account courtesy of the editor of The Eagle, the magazine of the Glider Pilot Regimental Association.

Photo of Leslie Howard courtesy of Keith Howard.

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More Info

For more information about the work of the AFPU in WW2, see Dr Fred McGlade’s book “The History of the British Army Film & Photographic Unit in the Second World War” (Helion, 2010).

Alan Whicker’s book “Whicker’s War” (HarperCollins, 2005) is also informative, and, in true Whicker style, an entertaining read. Whicker was in the AFPU in Sicily and landed on D Day with the seaborne forces far to the south of Syracuse. After the war he became a major TV personality and travel journalist. His mannered presentation in the weekly TV series he fronted, “Whicker’s World”, was so well known that he even got a satirical Monty Python comedy sketch all to himself. Whicker’s talent showed early in Sicily. While most AFPU photographers snapped their shots and moved on quickly to the next scene of action, Whicker submitted an extraordinary series of photo-journalistic pieces. Each photograph was a close portrait of a Sicilian from a variety of walks of life, but instead of a perfunctory caption, each was accompanied by a press-ready essay on the back. Small wonder that he went on to celebrity status after the fighting was over.

Notes on the IWM Photograph

The new photograph of the Ponte Grande bridge (above) comes from a 35mm film in the archives of the Imperial War Museum. The film is AYY 510/14. The image posted here is low resolution for the web. To reproduce it, apply to the IWM for a licence for commercial use, and for a list of film labs who can make high resolution copies and  frame grabs.

You can watch the film here.

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