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CHAPTER 1
'L' Detachment – SAS
Geneifa, Egypt. Thursday, 4 September 1941, the first day of the third year of the war. In baking heat, a handful of Guards Commandos drew up a new set of equipment from the 'Q' stores and left by lorry for an unknown destination called Kabrit. One of them was Jim Almonds, a very tall sergeant in the Coldstream Guards with dark brown hair and eyes. The others were Jim Blakeney, a big raw-boned trawler-man from Grimsby; Pat Riley, a six footer with a round, jovial face; and Bob Lilley, slim built, with a thin, dark moustache and high cheekbones. They headed towards Kabrit, east of Geneifa and north of Suez on the edge of the Great Bitter Lake.
Well out into the desert, the barren dusty little camp of a few tents was at first sight completely deserted. One or two warships anchored out in the Lake provided the only visible signs of life. It was the hottest time of the day; the sun beat down on a silence broken only by the distant muffled sound of firing practice across the water. At the entrance to a tent, heroically purporting to be an HQ , a handwritten notice on a stick in the ground said 'L' DETACHMENT S.A.S. REGIMENT.
Riley leaned out of the truck as they drew within sight of their new Unit. He had been born in America but had returned to England at an early age. In spite of his nationality, he had managed to get into the Coldstream Guards. Suddenly, he spotted a lone figure sitting on an upended kit bag.
'It can't be – yes it is – it's Seekings!' His old friend heaved himself up and came to meet them. He had a neat fair triangular moustache and unruly light brown hair which was plastered straight back on the few occasions when he had it under control. He and Riley were old sparring partners from earlier days in the Army. His compact stocky build was ideally suited for parachuting, while his irascible nature made him a dangerous opponent in the boxing ring. Seekings helped them to unload their kit from the truck while they plied him with questions. He told them that there was a naval station just down the road, one of those dry land ships that the Navy took so seriously, where they had to talk about going ashore. There was also an Air Force base, and a New Zealand stores depot not too far away.
It was soon apparent that Kabrit itself was 'a bit of a do-it-yourself job'. Not only did they have to dig in for the tentage but, according to the CQMS (Company Quarter Master Sergeant), they were going to have get the tents from somewhere, along with other essentials. A whole crowd of other men were due to arrive soon from the old Troop of their CO (Commanding Officer) David Stirling. These included Ernie Bond, who had been with them inside Tobruk.
That evening, the SAS came together for the first time. David Stirling addressed them all in the still warm open air. The atmosphere was not unlike that of the first day of a new school term. Next to Stirling, stood a young Welsh Guards officer, Lieutenant Jock Lewes. He had not been blessed with the physique, strength and stamina of the average Commando but he looked keen and intelligent. He was about six feet tall with a slim build and a high forehead from which thick sandy brown hair was swept cleanly back. He had a sharp, sensitive face with the regulation neat moustache and an unconscious slight air of superiority. He was very fit. But there were some things which fitness could not prevent. His hands and arms were disfigured by weeping desert sores.
The founder members of the SAS were gathered informally, dressed in variations on the standard theme of the Commando uniform of khaki shorts and shirts. Lewes motioned to them all to sit down. Jim Almonds and Riley, with Jim Blakeney and Bob Lilley were grouped in front of Lewes. They were the Tobruk Four, who had carried out night operations with him behind enemy lines in Tobruk. Ernie Bond was close to Stirling. Dave Kershaw lounged next to Seekings. Kershaw was tall, with dark intelligent eyes and angular features. 'Honest Dave' had fought in Spain against Franco on the Republican side as a member of the International Brigade. He and other, rather idealistic, young men had suffered and lost together but they had not given up their ideals. Dave would never do down a friend but he had no compunction about ripping off the system when it came to commodities which were in short supply.
Corporal Bob Bennett, a cheerful cockney from the Grenadier Guards, pale complexioned, thin faced and slightly intense, squatted on his haunches next to Corporal Jimmy Brough, a canny Scot with beetling brows from Stirling's own Scots Guards and Commando days. Corporals Johnny Rose and Johnny Cooper, also from the Scots Guards and among the youngest of the volunteers, sat next to each other. Beside them, Sergeants Bob Tait and Geoff DuVivier, of the Gordon Highlanders waited patiently with Privates Jock Byrne and Jimmie Storie. 'Whacker' Evans, Scots Guards, and Tubby Trenfield, Warwickshire Light Infantry, two large burly men with bluff, matter-of-fact faces surveyed the scene impassively.
Stirling was immaculate but relaxed. He had an air of effortless superiority. He thanked them all for being there, taking time to pause and let his gaze rest on each man. He had a simple direct way of speaking that got right through.
'I know that each one of you has made a personal decision to be here and I am delighted to have you on board.' A few discreet coughs covered the unexpected emotion of the moment. Then he went on to say that it worked both ways. They were a brand new Unit and could not afford to carry any passengers. Nor could they afford to 'piss about' disciplining anyone who was not one hundred per cent devoted to having a good crack at the Hun. The SAS discipline would be self-discipline. If they did not want to stay, or if they were not up to it, they would be RTU'd (Returned to Unit) immediately. The assembled men did not demur.
He went on. It was a new Unit. They must not expect to be spoon fed by MEHQ (Middle East Headquarters) or have everything done for them. 'L' Detachment would be what they made it. As a first step he suggested that they devote some time to deciding what was needed by way of stores and equipment. Then it was up to them to go and find them. There was a large Allied stores depot not far away which probably would not even miss what 'L' Detachment needed as basic essentials. Grins flashed around the assembled group. But Stirling was quick to drive home the message about personal standards. They knew that routine operational standards always fell slightly below those achieved in training. So they would aim for the highest, most testing levels of endurance and performance when they were undergoing training. Though it would be tough, they would give thanks for it when they were in action.
Part of their training, he told them, would be aimed at getting them to think for themselves. While the team concept remained important, each one of them had to develop a sense of their own independence and personal effectiveness. Finally, he emphasised that turnout and bearing were important to their morale. Although when they were out in the desert there might not always be enough water to wash and shave, nothing was changed the rest of the time. In camp, they all owed it to each other, and to the good name of their new Unit, to maintain the highest possible standards of dress and behaviour. They could get a visit from MEHQ at any time and so should not be caught napping. After wishing them good evening and good luck, Stirling, accompanied for a few yards by Lewes, headed off towards the Officers' Mess tent.
In September 1941, war in the Western Desert was coming to the end of its phoney lull. Since the British operation codenamed Battleaxe had failed to relieve Tobruk on 15 June and General Sir Claude Auchinleck – 'the Auk' – had replaced Wavell as Commander in Chief Middle East, the numbers of men under arms in the Nile theatre had grown to around 500,000. They had quickly been organised into the Eighth in the Western Desert, the Ninth Army in Syria and Palestine and the Tenth Army in Baghdad.
Wavell's days of dearth in material resources also seemed to be over. American weapons and equipment were augmenting the supplies arriving from Britain and the Commonwealth. The Suez Canal was safe and open to Allied shipping. Apart from the continued bombardment of Tobruk, which was besieged but still held on, peace appeared to have settled over the Western Desert. But the appearance was deceptive. As the weeks passed, it became clear that both sides were conducting sedate and civilised preparations for an inevitable battle. The tide of war had slopped messily from west to east and back again since early 1940, as the Axis made gains and was then pushed back, only to advance again, always along the vital coastal strip of road, ports and airfields. Each ebb and flow left a dirty brown tide mark of mangled and broken vehicles, equipment and weapons and desert scrub scorched and blackened with oil. A spring tide was now gathering itself up in the west. Rommel was preparing to unleash his forces in one massive attempt to breach the Allies' flimsy defences and sweep into Cairo, Egypt and beyond. The outcome of the war in the Middle East was at stake.
That first night, after Stirling's talk, bank upon bank of vermilion cloud marbled the late evening sky as the newly formed SAS men began to consider their first night operation, an assault on the New Zealand Army. They clustered around the CQMS, Gerry Ward, to go over the list of stores and equipment to be purloined. Ward was matter of fact as he outlined the objectives. A stocky, slightly older man, he had been selected for his experience as a first-rate quarter-master sergeant. Most of the Kiwis were away on operations so they shouldn't have too much trouble getting what they wanted. They needed basic items like tents, the bigger the better, camp beds and chairs, small tables, receptacles such as bowls, jugs and any medium-sized luxury items they could find like mirrors, wash stands and so on. They were not to waste time carrying back anything that they could already get like basic rations, issued kit or medical supplies.
The area stores depot turned out to be huge. The moon had not risen and the stars of the immense desert night gave little light, cloaking their clandestine mission. The marauders from Kabrit prowled about in what seemed like a veritable city of British and other Commonwealth tents before getting their bearings and making for the New Zealanders' lines. Each man had a few secret qualms; the Kiwis were well liked and respected as the finest infantry in the Middle East. They were also paid more than the British and lived accordingly. Suddenly, the SAS men saw the scale of their antipodean colleagues' provision.
'Blimey!' Lilley was staggered. The New Zealanders appeared to have everything except the kitchen sink. They even had a stock of every item. Kershaw was impressed.
Almonds was relieved. He and Riley were bent on equipping the first SAS Sergeants Mess to a high standard but they did not want to deprive the New Zealanders. They carried out a 6 foot folding trestle table for the bar. With it into the back of the 3 ton truck went a turned, dark oak standard lamp. Kershaw struggled up with two others carrying an old piano which they hoisted up into the three-tonner. By common assent, Bennett and Rose certainly 'had the tonsils' for singing along with it.
Riley and Almonds got hold of a three-man tent and a double; they were to share with Ernie Bond, while Lilley and Blakeney shared another. Without too much difficulty, they acquired a few more decent sized tents. One or two were even taken while still fully erected by grabbing each corner and lifting them noiselessly from around their sleeping occupants. On the way back, the brigands passed the camp cinema tent and relieved it of the first few rows of easy chairs reserved for the officers. A little while later, Stirling asked Almonds if he could build them some parachute training equipment. He said that he had heard from Mr Lewes, who had introduced the idea of parachuting to Stirling, that Sergeant Almonds was 'a dab hand at making things'.
'We very badly need parachute training equipment here,' he said. What do you think you can do for us?' He had a way of making the most impossible request seem perfectly reasonable and anyone who did not immediately accede to his demands feel a total spoil sport. Almonds thought on his feet. He had joined the SAS for the challenge, not to end up becoming a Clerk of Works. And making things when the right tools and materials were not available was a very tall order. On the other hand, the means to train properly was vitally important; the success of the unit and possibly the saving of lives depended on it. And he had heard that the CO was a very difficult man to refuse. He hesitated. But then saw that Stirling was looking at him with a confident smile on his face. Before he knew where he was, they were discussing the details. It was true. It was impossible to say no to him.
The men saw little of their leader, who appeared to spend his time alternately browbeating the staff at MEHQ or importuning his many personal 'contacts' in Cairo with the same objective of acquiring the basic necessities required by his new unit. But resources were not his only problem. His small force of six officers and sixty men, and his own recent promotion to Captain, had been granted at a price. He had agreed to plan operations jointly with the Director of Military Operations, MEHQ. It was not a happy marriage. For a start, the two men had different perceptions of 'L' Detachment's role. Stirling's original idea was based on the notion that 'small is beautiful', especially when it comes accompanied by the element of surprise and the freedom of complete flexibility, to do whatever is required in any given situation to achieve the objective. His aim was to make the unit strategic. It would focus on specific targets where minimum input could cause maximum damage to the enemy. This would mean attacking and disrupting whatever was most crucial to the enemy's ability to make progress in winning the war.
All this was a foreign language to the average Woolwich and Camberley-trained staff officer and particularly incomprehensible to the Director of Military Operations. To make matters worse, they were not on the same wavelength. In fact they did not even use the same medium of communication. Stirling liked a face to face meeting, possibly with a few key points sketched out on the back of a tobacco packet as an aide mémoir. Failing that option, he preferred to pick up the 'phone. Such methods of interaction enabled him to make the most of his considerable powers of oral persuasion and personal charm. He detested the pirouetting on paper beloved of staff officers in general and of the Director of Military Operations in particular. It was to say the least an uneasy relationship.
On Friday 5 September 1941, 'L' Detachment started training for operations to be carried out in enemy territory, for which they would be dropped by parachute. Each morning, while it was still dark, they went out on a route march or a long distance run, resplendent in Empire builder navy blue PT shorts. Then the daily tasks and training would begin and continue until dark. A rumour about a young officer called Blair Mayne was prominent in the minds of the men. It was said that 'Paddy' Mayne was joining the unit. Unless the bush telegraph served them wrong, Mayne had come out with 11 Scottish Commando. He was said to be good in action; perhaps a bit too good. According to Riley, the boys were all pretty impressed about him having 'smacked' his last CO during an argument, actually knocking him down. Stirling had had to get him out from close arrest to sign him up.
Most mornings, the trainees were out early. When they did not run, they played rugby on a pitch with hurricane oil lamps hung out as markers. The 'A' and 'B' teams represented nothing in particular. The main aim of the exercise was to knock each other about a bit. One morning, a new officer joined in the training. This, they were told by the PTI (Physical Training Instructor), was Lieutenant Mayne. He was big, with massive thighs and shoulders and huge, spade-like hands. Almonds judged him to be about his own height, around six foot three, but heavier at around fifteen and a half stones. Nothing unusual in that for 'L' Detachment. But for all his bulk, this man handled himself well. He was very alert and fast on his feet.
The desert night air was still crisp and they kept moving, even when the ball was momentarily not in play. Pools of light flooded the area around each flickering lamp, and the noisy scuffling of the game moved from the light into the shadow and back again, up and down the pitch. Once the game got going, everyone forgot the training element. Only the winning mattered. Shouts rang out.
'Here! Pass man, pass!'
'Com'on now Jimmaie! Overrrr heerrrrre! Over heerrrrre!'
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Gentleman Jim"
by .
Copyright © 2011 Lorna Almonds-Windmill.
Excerpted by permission of Pen and Sword Books Ltd.
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