Four days after the cessation of hostilities at Termoli, on 10 October, the SRS received a visit from General Miles Dempsey, Commander of XIII Corps under whose auspices the SRS had been operating in Italy. Dempsey addressed the men and began by praising the ‘brilliant’ way in which they had captured the guns at Cape Murro di Porco. He then commended their courage in repelling the Germans at Termoli, explaining how the enemy had been obliged to bring up the 16th Panzer Division from Naples, on the east coast, in a vain attempt to retake the port. In addition, said Dempsey, the SRS had ‘eased the pressure on the American Fifth Army’, who were now advancing.1
Dempsey, who had won a Military Cross during World War I, saved his most heartfelt congratulations until the end. Regretting that the alliance between his Corps and the squadron was about to end, he said:
In all my military career – and in my time I have commanded many units – I have never yet a met a unit in which I had such confidence as I have in yours. And I mean that!
Let me give you six reasons why I think you are as successful as you are. Six reasons which I think you will perhaps bear in mind when training newcomers to your ranks to your own high standards.
First of all, you take your training seriously. That is one thing that has always impressed me about you.
Secondly, you are well disciplined. Unlike some who take on the specialised and highly dangerous job, you maintain a standard of discipline and cleanliness which is good to see.
Thirdly, you are physically fit, and I think I know you well enough to know you will always keep that up.
Fourthly, you are completely confident in your abilities – yet not to a point of overconfidence.
Fifthly, despite that confidence, you plan carefully.
Last of all, you have the right spirit, which I hope you will pass on to those who may join you in the future.
Three days after Dempsey’s visit, the SRS embarked for Molfetta, a coastal town further down the east coast of Italy. It wasn’t a happy stay. The squadron war diary noted that they had trouble securing billets with ‘Italians not helpful or even truthful’. The men vented their displeasure in the bars of Molfetta and on 21 October the diary stated: ‘9pm curfew imposed. Result of general rowdyism in town.’2
Paddy Mayne organised some sports events to relieve the boredom, and then on 1 November came word that the squadron would be sailing home in three weeks. The news thrilled the 200 men, nearly all of whom hadn’t seen family and friends for more than three years. But shortly before they were due to sail, a message arrived from Whitehall cancelling the embarkation order. They were to remain in Italy. ‘It is hard to realise the feelings of the men,’ the war diary commented on 21 November. ‘On the day upon which we thought we were finished with this depressing camp, after a week of being told “domania” every day, we get this blow … it’s difficult to gauge the true extent of the effect upon morale, but it may cause a lack of spirit or it may cause carelessness or abandon on future ops.’
The squadron finally sailed for Britain from Algiers on Christmas Day 1943. After a festive dinner of tinned turkey, followed by pears and custard, the squadron boarded the SS Oranto. ‘This really is the best way of spending Christmas, embarking for the UK,’ wrote the diarist.
Shortly after docking at Greenock the squadron was given a month’s leave. Then they reassembled at their new base, the village of Darvel in south-west Scotland, where the men were billeted in two disused lace mills. ‘It was cold and miserable because they shut off all the heating in the mills,’ remembered Jeff Du Vivier, who had married his sweetheart shortly after returning to Britain. Bob Tait was his best man at the small ceremony in Ayr and Du Vivier’s SAS colleagues sent a congratulatory telegram: ‘Trickiest “jump” a parachutist ever made. Happy landings and the very best of luck.’3
Upon its return to the UK the SRS reverted to 1SAS and now belonged to the SAS Brigade, an adjunct to the Army Air Corps under the command of Brigadier General Rory McLeod. The brigade also included 2SAS, two French regiments – the 3rd and 4th – and 5SAS, comprised of a squadron of Belgian paratroopers. In April 1944, F Squadron GHQ Liaison Regiment Phantom was attached to the brigade to make up for the shortfall in skilled signallers, increasing its strength to 2,500 men. One unwelcome upshot of the restructuring was the decision by McLeod that the SAS replace its sand-coloured beret with the red one worn by airborne troops. The decision didn’t go down well with the desert veterans and some, led by Paddy Mayne (newly promoted to lieutenant colonel), continued to wear the old beret.
One of Mayne’s first tasks was to expand the 200 men of the SRS into a full-blown regiment. 1SAS was to consist of four squadrons, each of 12 officers and 109 other ranks (in addition there was a squadron HQ and two Troops); A Squadron, commanded by Major Bill Fraser, which considered itself the elite and included original L Detachment members such as Du Vivier, Reg Seekings and Johnny Cooper; B Squadron under the command of Eric Lepine; C Squadron, led by Tony Marsh; and D Squadron, whose commanding officer was Ian Fenwick.
Fenwick, a brilliant cartoonist whose work had graced numerous publications, was one of a number of new officers recruited from the auxiliary units of the British Resistance Organisation. These units had been formed in 1940 when a German invasion seemed imminent, the aim being to launch guerrilla attacks against the enemy from underground hideouts. Altogether, Mayne recruited about 130 officers and men from the redundant Auxiliary Units, including Roy Bradford and Peter Weaver. Mike Sadler, recovered from his stomach ulcers, remembered that the officers who arrived from the Auxiliaries were all likeable ‘with a good deal of self-confidence and authority’.4
Among the rankers was 19-year-old Bob Francis, a fluent French speaker and one of 200 men from the Parachute Regiment to volunteer for 1SAS. ‘Mayne queried me about my French, asked me how good it was and he joked that he wasn’t in a position to test me,’ recalled Francis. ‘I passed but only about 20 of the 200 [paratroopers] made it through.’5
Vic Long, like Mayne a native of Belfast, was another paratrooper who responded to Mayne’s recruitment drive. ‘We were in camp at Salisbury at the time,’ he recalled. ‘Paddy and a couple of officers came down to interview all those who’d volunteered. “What benefit would you be if I picked you in the regiment?” he asked. I told him I was a three-inch mortar instructor, knew how to read a map and had done a course at the Netherhaven small arms school. I finished by saying I thought I could be some use to the regiment. “Hmm,” he said. “Very well. Next”.’6
The training was rigorous, both for new recruits and those who had been with the regiment since the desert. Everyone had to undergo a parachute course at Ringway, Manchester, and there were lessons in explosives, firearms and unarmed combat as well as endless physical training sessions. ‘One of the best aspects was the weapons training,’ remembered Bob Francis. ‘We were allowed to try everything and pick the weapon we liked. I was good with the Tommy Gun but most of the boys treasured the US carbines. They were good weapons and because the rounds were so much smaller you could [carry] more.’
Vic Long recalled that they spent a lot of time navigating their way round the Scottish countryside. ‘We’d go up in a plane at night, fly around for an hour or so and then drop. We had no idea where we were headed, only that we had to lay [dummy] charges on a line at such and such a point. We had to find out where we had dropped, locate the target, and then lay the charges. Then a couple of officers would appear to see if we’d done a good job.’
It wasn’t all work and no play, however, for the officers and men. There were nights in the village pub, dances in the village hall and parties in the squadron mess. One of the new officers was Ian Wellsted, who had joined 1SAS from the Royal Tank Regiment. ‘Men and selected guests, from the major down to the last non-operational sanitary man, would get uproariously drunk on a dreadful concoction of red wine and rum, known as “Suki”,’ he recalled.7 Wellsted was in A Squadron, as was another anonymous officer who wrote home describing a shindig held on Thursday 4 May: ‘What a party it was. We made a most potent brew, 50% rum. It was passed round in pint and ½ pint glasses so you can get some idea of the resulting havoc. It had a kick like a mule and people passed out right and left. We put many men and officers to bed. We took advantage of one of the latter and cut off half his moustache. He was not awfully pleased the following morning.’8
When the men of A Squadron were in their cups they sang from the songs sheets they all carried. There were 20 songs in all, from ‘Inverary Inn’ to ‘Underneath the Arches’ to ‘Moonlight Becomes You’. But the song they liked best was ‘Lilli Marlene’, which came with an ‘apology to the Afrika Korps’. The SAS had appropriated the love song from Germany’s desert troops and added a few verses of their own in honour of their worthy foe:
Verse 1:
Check you’re in position, see your gun’s all right,
Wait until a convoy comes creeping through the night.
Now you can press the trigger, son,
And blow the Hun to Kingdom Come,
And Lilli Marlene’s boy friend will never see Marlene.
Chorus:
Back to the rendezvous we’ll steer,
To drink more beer (‘cause there’s none here).
But poor Marlene’s boy friend will never see Marlene.
Verse 2:
Forty dozen rounds of tracer and of ball,
Forty dozen rounds of the stuff that makes them fall.
Finish your strafing, drive away,
And live to fight another day,
And poor Marlene’s boy friend will never see Marlene.
The new recruits saw increasingly less of Paddy Mayne as the spring wore on but one morning he appeared unannounced in the lace mills. ‘It must have been about 9 and we were still asleep on the floor,’ recalled Long. ‘He called us on to parade at the games field at Darvel and tore us off a strip, particularly the officers.’
It wasn’t just the 1SAS officers who angered Mayne in the spring of 1944. Since their return from the Mediterranean, the regiment had been unsure of their exact role in the forthcoming invasion of France. Mayne had greeted with caution the appointment of Roderick McLeod as SAS brigadier, unsure of how he viewed the SAS. It wasn’t just another airborne unit, like the parachute regiment, dropped en masse near targets in view of the enemy; Mayne still clung to David Stirling’s original ethos that they were most effective when inserted deep into enemy territory in small units to operate for long periods of time without interference from the top brass.
On 25 March 1944 McLeod wrote to Mayne informing him of the SAS’s participation when the invasion of France began: ‘Infiltration will be by land, sea or air according to circumstances, and training in all methods will be carried out.’9 Four days later, 29 March, the Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force (SHAEF) issued the SAS Brigade with its operational instructions for the invasion. Their intention was for the SAS to parachute into Normandy between the landing beaches and the German reserves (three panzer divisions) 36 hours in advance of the main invasion fleet. Once on the ground the SAS would deploy as a blocking line, preventing the German reserves from reinforcing their comrades at the landing beaches.
Bill Stirling was livid when he learned of the order and drafted a letter to SHAEF in which he made clear his opposition to the role envisaged. He demanded that the SAS operate in France as they had in the desert, adhering to the principles laid down by his brother. ‘Paddy was useless with dealing with senior officers because if they did something to annoy him he threatened to punch their noses,’ reflected Tony Greville-Bell on why it was Stirling and not Mayne who took SHAEF to task. ‘He was tactically very clever, very bright, and he got a hell of a thrill from operating – he was the epitome of an SAS officer. But he wasn’t the right man to command the regiment because he had no patience with boring people.’10
Before Bill Stirling could send his letter, however, Lieutenant General Frederick ‘Boy’ Browning intervened, writing to the Chief of Staff, 21 Army Group, to say that he considered it preferable if the SAS Brigade was dropped deeper into France to attack German lines of communication while training Maquis groups. The operation order was duly amended but Bill Stirling sent his letter nonetheless, unable to suppress his frustration with the army’s perpetual misreading of the SAS. ‘There has always been divided opinions about the SAS in higher quarters,’ reflected Greville-Bell. ‘The bright officers were always for it and the stick-in-the-muds were always against it.’
The letter caused something of a furore within SHAEF and Stirling was asked to withdraw his criticism. He refused and, after Browning had visited 2SAS’s base at Monkton, in Ayrshire, Scotland, Stirling resigned. ‘We were in absolute agreement with his decision because of that thick-headed idiot Boy Browning,’ said Greville-Bell, by now a captain with a DSO. ‘In fact the senior officers, of whom I was one then, were inclined to resign as well but Bill told us not to… Really, David’s [Stirling] capture was a disaster for us. Though we did fairly well after that I think with him handling the upper levels of authority everything would have gone his way and would have been much better.’
