The History of No 2. Comando
The Operations 1943 - 1945
Salerno
The 379 page book ‘Operation Avalanche’ by authors Des Hickey and Gus Smith details the Salerno battle as compiled from lots of painstaking research and interviews with several veterans of that nasty battle. After reading the book and casting my memory back to that time, Sept. 9th to Sept. 17th, 1943, this author found the book entertaining reading, although, he was unable, for the most part, to reconcile his remembrances with the printed words of Gus and Des. The author was a non-erudite 19 year old at Salerno, rather an unimportant member of No. 2 Commando, but he was there, and come to think of it, Gus and Des, he imagines you hadn’t been born at that time.
As this author saw it, the landing on the beach at Vietri, which was a little suburb of Salerno, at 3:30 a.m. Sept. 9th, was an absolute breeze! The ramp of the L.C.A. went down and his Troop, No. 4, made a comfortable, dry landing. Not a spot of water on our boots. Needless to say, the boys were not at all unhappy to find that there was no ‘welcoming’ party awaiting our arrival - indeed, no signs of any angry men in grey hanging around. Meanwhile, ‘Mad Jack’ at the head of his troops passed through us in a cloud of dust and speedily captured a battery of German field artillery guns which could have fired on the invasion ships from their positions on the hills about the beach. The author and his friends passed the next four hours doing nothing but watching and waiting, until the next crisis arose. We ran out of ‘smokes’! It should be explained that Colonel Churchill never allowed us to be slowed down by carrying the heavy back-packs containing our reserve ammunition, spare clothing and personal stuff such as food and cigarettes. The overwhelming criteria in ‘Mad Jack’s’ modus-operendi was speed and then more speed to close with the enemy. He reasoned there was always plenty of time for us to get our heavy packs later.
The German Army boys could never be accused of being slow to react to a situation, and somehow they mustered enough mortar crews in the hills above the beach which started plastering the area with their bombs. A few M.G. 42 machine guns also started to sweep the sands from time to time. The landing craft crews did not like this atmosphere at all and refused to stay for our lads who were waiting to unload our packs. The faint-hearted sailors shot off from the beach taking with them our reserve ammunition and the other items of our gear – including that essential life-support item, our cigarettes! Nelson would have had that miserable lot keel-hauled! Furthermore, when they fled back to their ships they caused considerable consternation by spreading the story that Vietri was in enemy hands. This nonsense was, of course, untrue. The Vietri beach was only occupied by a gloomy bunch of Capt. Tom Hemming’s boys who were watching their means of survival fade into the distance.
Our little group (still smokeless) was then detailed to get up to the coast road, which any enemy reinforcements from the North would have to use, and take up a blocking position astride the highway. We marched up the scrub-covered hill until we came to a road and started to site our bren gun position. At that moment we heard a tremendous roar and were showered with debris from an explosion. The Germans had managed to place and detonate a large cratering charge in the middle of the road. After the dust had settled a bit we observed two German sappers who had done the deed leaving the scene. These two soldiers never lived to receive congratulations on job well done from their superiors! Tpr. Gordon David, an ex-cop, brought both of them down with two well-placed shots. We buried them in the crater that they had made.
All through that night and the following morning we heard the rattle of automatic weapons and the thump of grenades as the troops of No. 2 patrolled the hills and two small hill villages above our heads. They and the boys from our companions, No. 41 R.M. Commando, prevented infiltration by the enemy, maintained strongpoints on strategic features and took prisoners. One report reached us which told of Capt. John Henderson taking on and knocking out a PZKW Mk.4 Tank with that crude PIAT mortar weapon. Also there was an account of Sgt. William Rudge with Pte. C.E. Smith taking on a patrol of five panzer-grenadiers, killing all of them and returning with their weapons and identity discs. Although we were taking steady casualties from these activities there was no cause for alarm as we were supposed to have been relieved by a 46th Division battalion after 48 hours. More wishful thinking!
The morning of the 11th is noteworthy for three events. First, ‘Mad Jack’ had announced in a very quiet voice – one could barely hear him – that he ‘thought the Commando had been efficient in its operations’. The second event was the arrival of our large backpacks (thoroughly looted), dumped on the beach. The third event was the contact on the left flank of the Commando with our old friends, the U.S. Rangers. The Rangers’ young officer said to the author by way of presenting his credentials ‘I was at Achnacarry’. Charlie Vaughan would have liked to hear his school being used to establish bona-fides. Then this likeable soldier just about emptied his, and the pockets of his seven men, of packs of cigarettes and gave them to us. He said for us not to worry as ‘they had stacks of butts back there’!
In the evening of Sept. 12th, we moved into the village of Dragone and onto the slopes of the hill behind the little place. The author thought it strange that so many of the Commando were being concentrated at this one place. Maybe there were 150 to 160 men there, the actual number is not given in the 2 Commando War Diary because no actual count was ever taken. The sounds throughout the night were unmistakable – transport, tank engines, even voices of German paratroopers, panzer-grenadiers and nebelwerfer crews. The men of 2 Commando readied their weapons and waited as did the Marines of No. 41 Commando close by us. The ensuing battle which commenced by a saturation coverage of our positions by the nebelwerfer rockets started just before 6:00 a.m., was later described by Lt. Col. Churchill in one sentence: ‘There had been a terrible battle at Dragone’. For ‘Mad Jack’ to use those somber few words to tell of what happened gives one some idea of the severity of the action. Even our leader, ‘the bravest of the brave’, was stunned by the horror of that morning of Sept. 13th. This author has decided not to revisit that hill by recounting a blow-by-blow description of the battle, but instead to remember the friends that were lost, and to recall his joy at seeing the faces of some of his comrades who had somehow endured the horror of that morning and survived.
The battle of Dragone claimed the lives of L/Cpl. Hugh Bryan from Glasgow, age 19; Pte. Derrick Bennett from Kent, age 20; L/Sgt. Charles Blattner from Edinburgh, age 45; Capt. Richard Broome from Cheshire, age 27; Capt. Arthur Brunswick from Gateshead, age 29; Gnr. Charles Burns from Glasgow, age 23; L/Cpl. George Carrick from Manchester, age 28; Fus. Wyndham Davies from London, age 25; Pte. Charles Drury from London, age 25; Pte. Robinson Craig from Cumberland, age 24; Pte. Stanley Connor from Middlesex, age 26; L/Cpl. Donald Formoy from York, age 21; Rfmn. Norman Gould from Stoke-on-Trent, age 22; L/Cpl. John Hunter from Wakefield, age 22; Major Tom Lawrie from Gloucester, age 33; Lieut. Charles Lea from Yorkshire, age 27; Capt. Frank Mason from London, age 31; Gdmn. Reginald Pash from Southampton, age 23; Pte. Frederick Radcliffe from Liverpool, age 23; Lieut. John Rosling from Carmarthenshire, age 25; L/Sgt. Leonard Rubin from London, age 25; L/Cpl. Anthony Shemmonds from Middlesex, age 21; L/Cpl. James Smith from Warrington, age 24; L/Cpl. John Stewart from Liverpool, age 23; Pte. John Veitch from Selkirk, age 21; Pte. Dennis Wright from Birmingham, age 18.
In addition, 53 members of No. 2 Commando were wounded in the struggle for Dragone Hill, Sept. 13th, 1943. Pte. John Barry of Yorkshire, age 22, and Pte Alfred Blower of Liverpool, age 25 died of their wounds.
The author would like to share an incident concerning the battle at Dragone with others. It came during the counter-attack made by the Commando. A group of four men, including two walking-wounded, found themselves in a narrow cobbled alley which passed for the main street of the hamlet and saw two German paratroopers, with weapons slung across their backs, attempting to carry a wounded comrade to safety. The No. 2 boys knew that they were paratroopers because of the bulbous trousers and distinctive, rimless helmets. The paratroopers turned and found themselves looking at our four with weapons pointing in their direction. The N.C.O. leading our group said: ‘No firing lads!’ and motioned with his arm for the Germans to keep going and get their wounded man out of there. One paratrooper raised his arm in acknowledgement and they vanished around the corner of the alley. It seemed to this author that, at that moment, humanity had arrived to reassert itself in his world.
The day after Dragone, No. 2 Commando was moved into Salerno for rest and refit. The author and the others had been ‘on the go’ since the night of the landing five days previous and had not been allowed to get any sleeping time in, other than snatched ‘cat naps’. We rested, washed ourselves, and tried to remove some of the filth from our uniforms. Once again, that Commando curiosity, nothing was said about the previous day’s battle. Our Colonel Jack was very busy reassigning people to new responsibilities. T.S.M. Richard Tomlinson offered congratulations to ‘Mad Jack’ – it was the Colonel’s 37th birthday. Jack looked puzzled and replied, ‘Birthday? Yes, Hmph!’, and passed on. He had been summoned to a conference at Brigade H.Q. as there was an area of trouble elsewhere in the beachhead that required his whole attention. On his way out, ‘Mad Jack’ said to no one in particular, ‘Get ready to move at a moment’s notice!’
The Commando duly moved to Mercatello, about three miles east of Salerno. Our friends, 41 R.M. Commando, had also moved at the same time. On arrival, we were informed that a serious situation had developed in the valley below Pigoletti during the previous night and he (the Brigadier) wanted the Commandos to ‘sweep’ the area and clean out the enemy forces.
The ‘sweep’ was performed with Commando elan. Our boys, with the 41 lads alongside, went up the valley in the dark, all yelling ‘COMMANDO!’ at the top of their voices. Jack led the way, far ahead, and as is related elsewhere, took 42 prisoners virtually by himself. A short distance away, Capt. Tom Hemming, accompanied only by his runner, Pte. Bill Davidson, also grabbed nearly 40 prisoners. Having completed the requested ‘sweep’, the Commando returned to its start line bringing with them a total of about 150 German soldiers that they had taken prisoner. However, this was not the end. The Commando, as a result of a change of plan, were ordered to retrace their steps and occupy the same areas once again. The weary men of No. 2 and 41 returned to Pigoletti and a feature known as ‘The Pimple’.
During the course of the next two days the Commandos held their positions with their losses steadily mounting. Capt. The Duke of Wellington and his T.S.M. Lindsay Garland both were lost leading an attack on Sept. 16th, as was Pte. Joseph Jackson from Warrington. Many more army and marine Commandos were among the fallen before the two Commando units were finally relieved on the evening of Sept. 18th. The battle for Salerno had been won and the men of No. 2 Commando who had come through it all could now await their removal to Sicily where they would recruit and rebuild once again.
Here we look at statistics once again: No. 2 Commando and No. 41 R.M. Commando together had 367 killed, wounded or missing out of the 738 who had landed in the Salerno operation. Not one Commando was taken prisoner by the enemy.
The men of No. 2 Commando will never forget their comrades of No. 41 R.M. Commando. To these warriors of 64 years ago, the author wishes to record his belated appreciation and say that it was an honour to have taken the field alongside you!
Salerno Aftermath
As the No. 2 Commando War Diary states, the remnants of the unit, following the Salerno campaign, were redeployed to Catania, Sicily. For once they were not lodged in their usual dusty field. By some accident they had been given a roof over their heads in the shape of a former Italian barracks.
These happenings were unknown to the author who had been placed aboard a hospital ship and was on his way from Salerno to Tripoli in North Africa. The ship’s medical people quickly removed the shrapnel from both of my legs and efficiently stopped any incipient blood-poisoning. Both legs were clean, but very stiff when the ship docked in Tripoli harbour. Then it was off to the nearby Army General Hospital.
It was natural that the author’s mind was occupied by wondering what was happening to the Commando, and the plans that needed to be worked on concerning the return to No. 2 Commando. Meanwhile, much time was taken up by swimming in Tripoli harbour to strengthen my legs so that I could undergo the long trek back to the ‘family’!
Getting back to one’s unit from hospital was no easy task. In those days, as soon as one was discharged from hospital, any ‘other rank’ was simply put in a ‘transit camp’ and was subject thereafter to be drafted to any regiment that needed replacements. At that time, this author was definitely an ‘other rank’ – his commission was to come later in his career. So, upon receipt of his hospital discharge, and declining a kind offer of transport to the transit camp, he set a course westward heading along the desert road bound for the Libya-Tunisia border on what he remembers as the first stage of his journey ‘home’. What followed was walking, riding on farmers’ trailers pulled by tractors, riding in an ore hopper car on a narrow-gauge railway, sneaking into a covered R.A.S.C. lorry which only travelled about ten miles. But, ten miles was ten miles! And Ben Gardene, Souse, Sfax, came and went and the author found himself looking out at the blue Mediterranean from the Bizerte waterfront. Sicily and Italy seemed so far away. He had by his estimate, walked about a hundred and ten miles so far in addition to the distance covered by the various forms of transport.
The author’s contemplations were interrupted by an American M.P. in a jeep calling out something like, ‘How are ya!’ This good soul was from a U.S. Army Air Corps base nearby and he listened to my story of wanting to get back to my Commando unit. At his invitation to ‘hop-in’ I obliged and then was given over to the care of some of his friends who were crew members of a C-47 (Dakota) transport group. A clean U.S. set of overalls was provided for me, together with washing and shaving gear – plus cigarettes! At 6:00 p.m. that evening I was escorted to a mess-tent and served a meal of steak and canned potatoes, followed by canned fruit-cocktail! The next morning a pilot of the group awakened me and observed that ‘you sure were tired!’ After breakfast we boarded the C-47 and had a nice flight to Catania, Sicily. After enquiries were made at the R.A.F. transit office, it was established that No. 2 Commando was right there in Catania – I WAS HOME!
The Commando that this author had rejoined was very busy. Officers were off on recruiting trips as the number of available men had shrunk to 125 – all ranks. Other Officers had gone on travels to far-off places trying to locate our boys who had been wounded at Salerno, but had since been stuck in transit camps. Capt. Sam Jenkins swooped on a camp near Bone, Algeria, and snatched four of our boys from the clutches of the paper-waving, protesting ‘desk-warrior’ who ran the place, and added insult to injury by recruiting an Officer who looked like a ‘likely lad’ to Sam on his way out of the camp gate.
Our Colonel Jack, meanwhile, had signed up Major Ted Fynn to be 2i/c in place of Tom Lawrie, and having done this, decided to resume ‘training the hell’ out of us. A novel innovation comes to mind. Mount Etna is very close to Catania and Mad Jack decided to take advantage of its near proximity. Our leader ordained that No. 2 Commando would, that night, climb the volcano and would line the rim of its crater by First Light of the next morning. We duly climbed the slopes until we reached the summit. In the dawn’s early light, we found ourselves peering down into the crater. It was kind of weird, but – ‘ours was not to reason why!’
Sometime in early November, we packed up and went by L.C.I.s to Taranto, Italy and thence by train to Molfetta – a town on Italy’s east coast. At Molfetta many volunteers arrived from the 8th Army – Lieuts. Coyle and Parsons among them. Pte. Eric Buckmaster, who had been in the Commando for a long time, was joined by Pte. Stanley Buckmaster, his brother, who volunteered to join us.
Christmas 1943 came and went, and it was – next stop Yugoslavia in January 1944.
Yugoslavia
No. 2 Commando started to arrive at Komiza on the Yugoslavian island of Vis on January 16th, 1944. They were to operate on Yugoslav soil for the next six months. The Commando was still much-depleted as a result of the battering it had taken at Salerno, and almost half the unit remaining in Italy consisted of the replacement men and those ‘old hands’ who formed the training cadres.
During the coming months a wide variety of activities would unfold involving: conventional assaults on fixed positions with the classic bayonet charge; pirate-style boarding parties going after any German supply ship that floated; quick in-and-out raids on isolated enemy garrisons; long reconnaissance patrols; manning coast-watching positions in assorted locations; as construction workers helping to build an airstrip; operating the ‘stir-up-trouble’ type of fighting patrols; mental disturbing of enemy troops by our German-speaking boys suddenly arriving with loud-hailers in the middle of the night; and cleaning up after the thoroughly-upset Germans had their Luftwaffe bomb us in retaliation for our endeavours which they did not appreciate. Even if one was a Commando connoisseur, there was something for everyone.
The situation facing the Commando seemed to be a rather simple one. The partisan forces under their leader, Marshal Tito, were being hard pressed nearby on the mainland of Yugoslavia. ‘Mad Jack’ and his troops had been given the task of reducing the pressure by drawing off large numbers of the German 118th Mountain Division. This process of ‘drawing off’ did not take Jack very long to implement. On January 26th, which was ten days after his arrival, he somehow managed to assemble enough decrepit vessels to transport three troops of No. 2 to attack the German garrison near Milna on Hvar. After thoroughly shooting up the place, we returned to Vis with prisoners, who appreciated greatly that their captors were British and not partisans. Not being one who would change a winning system, Colonel Jack twice returned to Hvar and twice repeated the process within five days. The author remembers on the return trip of the last one of these ventures he remarked to T.S.M. Peter Morland that the rickety schooner we were sailing couldn’t possible last another trip.
There was not long to wait before we were at it again. On February 4th Capt. Jack Bare took a troop to attack the garrison at Hvar Town, where unfortunately Jack Bare from Watford, age 29, was killed. The action on Hvar was concurrent with another action by No. 2 Commando, termed as an ‘Officers Reconnaissance’ by our Colonel. This was taking place on Solta and employed the services of Lieut. McMenamin, Capt. S.L. Jenkins with L/Cpl. Wright and Dvr. Robert Scholem, who was one of No. 2 Commando’s Germans. This party had been observing the enemy garrison at Grohote which had been earmarked for a ‘visit’ in March on Jack’s calendar. Before this group returned from their work they encountered a large German patrol who opened fire, inflicting mortal wounds on the leader, Capt. Samuel Jenkins, age 29, a former Welsh Rugby international from Carmarthen. Dvr. Scholem made his way back to the safety of a partisan hideout after travelling for over thirty hours on a broken ankle without food or water. It is sad for this author to relate that after all this, poor Bob Scholem was to be K.I.A. in Italy one month before the war ended, age 21.
Meanwhile, ‘Mad Jack’ had added a new dimension to the lives of his boys - PIRACY! Lieut. Michael Stilwell led the first of what was to be many boarding parties and swarmed aboard a German chartered schooner taking 17 enemy soldiers prisoner, after what Pte. Jakeman later described as only a ‘third-class’ fight. These sojourns became very popular with the personnel of No. 2. The Royal Navy had on board their boats the wonderful commodity known as FOOD! The boarding parties ate away most happily while they cruised searching for their next floating victims.
The tenure of No. 2 Commando reached its high point with a textbook operation against the 110 man enemy garrison at a village called Grohote. It happened on this author’s 20th birthday on March 19th, 1944. About two thirds of No. 2 had arrived to form a horseshoe formation about the village awaiting the order from Jack to move in. I was talking to my friend, Lieut. Jim Coyle about birthdays in general and he gave me the usual ‘Happy Birthday’ spiel. We then attended to the business at hand – 102 prisoners were taken and six of the German defenders were killed. It was most orderly. We sent the prisoners away and told them to pack their personal belongings which they did. We then found a garrison muster-roll belonging to the German officer in charge, and called the roll. As each Hans, Ludwig, Gunther and several Johans answered their names, we realized that we had captured the lot and no one had got away. Perfect! Jack eyed the scene benignly and led us back to our embarkation point. Our only casualty that day was Cpl. Cecil Cox from Sussex, age 24, who died of wounds received in the assault.
The Island of Vis became positively overcrowded by May 1944. Aside from the native partisans, the remainder of No. 2 Commando had long since arrived to be joined by the Marines of No. 40 and No. 43 Commandos and by elements of Artillery and the Highland Light Infantry Regiments. Several of these organizations sought to be included in the ongoing operations, but Colonel Jack was not too sympathetic to any such requests. He was said to have made some observation concerning ‘Too many Cooks’ etc. About this time our Jack banished to Italy Lieut. Barton who had operated some weeks before at Nerezisce on Brac on patrol, shot and killed the local German Commandant before returning to Vis with five prisoners. It seemed that he had conducted this business in civilian attire, which the Germans pointed out was a ‘no-no’ in the rules of war, and that further, if captured Lieut. Barton would be shot. Jack could not be moved on the matter even though this officer had been awarded the D.S.O. for his actions.
The major operation ‘to draw-off pressure on the partisans’ was in the works at the planning stage and it called for a major operation by all of No. 43 Commando with reinforcements from No. 40 Commando and partisan forces of up to 2000 men. The force was to be commanded by Lt. Col. Jack Churchill. The planned attack, which was to be on a feature known as Point 622 and other adjacent mountain-top fortified German strongpoints, started on June 2nd and finished with a nasty conclusion three days later. This author, along with other members of No. 2 had no part in the operation. Jack was there only in a command function. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong it seemed. The end of the battle found Jack and Lt. Col. ‘Pops’ Manners of 40 R.M. Commando, who had been mortally wounded, alone on the top of Point 622 with Jack playing his bagpipes in defiance of the German counter-attack until he was knocked out and, upon regaining consciousness, found himself to be a prisoner. No. 2 Commando mounted an abortive attempt from Vis trying to rescue the Colonel. It was not successful and lost 20 of its personnel in the process.
On June 23rd, No. 2 Commando, under its new commander, Lt. Col. F. W. Fynn, went to the airstrip where they marched past Marshal Tito in review, and afterwards, listened to some very nice things that he said concerning us. Soon after this parade we loaded up and disembarked in Monopoli, Italy, where the Commando went into its usual 4-star, dusty-field bivouac.
As life went on for the men of 2 Commando, many strange things were happening in the life of their former leader, now a captive of the enemy. After his transportation to Germany, Mad Jack was lodged in Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp, the same hell-hole in which the Glomfjord raiders had been executed! Our former Colonel was handcuffed and chained to the floor for the first month. Then, the idiot guards removed the ‘cuffs’ and Jack departed for the Baltic coast where he hoped to get aboard a neutral Swedish ship and thus escape. Jack walked almost to the port of Rostock where he was recaptured. Following his removal to a more remote camp in Austria, Jack once again decided that ‘enough is enough’ and left his latest prison – leaving no forwarding address. Living off the land our intrepid former leader set off for his intended destination, Verona, Italy, some 150 miles away. He crossed the Alps on a badly swollen ankle and to his delight ran into an American armoured column shortly thereafter. It is said, but not confirmed, as Jack rode off on a tank to safety, he was sad that he did not have his bagpipes with him to mark the splendour of the moment.
Albania - Spilje
2 Commando had returned to Italy from its six month sojourn in Yugoslavia and were encamped near Monopoli on the east coast of Italy. For the most part, the month of July 1944 was occupied by the ever-present problem of keeping the unit up-to-strength. Even by counting every nose we had, it seemed that as often as we recruited, we could not find anywhere near the numbers of volunteers we required. Our total of men available stubbornly stuck at about 250 – all ranks. Several of the officers and men passed the time by qualifying as parachutists at the nearby R.A.F. No. 4 P.T.S.
On the night of July 28th/29th, 1944, under the command of Lt. Col. Ted Fynn, No. 2 Commando landed at Spilje, Albania. It was a sort of a ‘First’. No British soldier had ever campaigned in Albania before, it was confided to this author. Having landed and surveyed the place, it was easy to understand why it had not been included in the ‘must visit’ agenda of older soldiers.
An approach march of four miles from the point-of-landing was made by the 250 men of No. 2 through very difficult terrain and we arrived at the objective, a high ridge overlooking a village known as Himare. On the top of this ridge was a very strong German fortified position. As the Commando sorted itself out, and in general aligned its troops for the forthcoming dawn assault, our every movement was announced by the incessant barking of obviously pro-German dogs. This author has always considered himself an admirer of the canine species, but on that night he remembers he wished these particular critters in hell! Although the Germans on top of the ridge used their technique of searching-fire with their MG. 42 machine guns every time their furry friends ‘fingered’ (or pawed) us, we had no losses, and the attack started right on schedule.
The slopes of the ridge were steep and the German defenders had established excellent fields of fire. Progress by the Commando was slow as many barbed-wire obstacles were encountered and anti-personnel ‘S’ mines seemed to be going off all over the hillside. This author had, at that time, estimated that shortly after 10:00 a.m. about 100 of the enemy had been knocked out by the Commandos. Col. Ted Fynn ordered a withdrawal as a strict time limit had been laid in the operation orders. So No. 2 disengaged and returned to the embarkation point. Casualties to the Commando were noted as 20 K.I.A. and 61 wounded. It had been a rather nasty fight and some 40 of the German defenders were left on the ridge refusing to surrender. These luckless men were descended on by an entire partisan brigade shortly afterwards and were wiped out to a man.
Before this author left the ridge-top, he knew that his old friend Sgt. Jack Moores was among the fallen and made a mental promise to himself to pay a visit sometime in the future to Jack’s family in Cambridge. Capt. Michael Stilwell had also been wounded severely in the assault, and the author remembers giving instructions for this officer’s evacuation. The battle was over.
Interlude
In between the operation that had been undertaken at Spilje and the operation that was to come at Sarande (both in Albania), life went on much the same in that field near Monopoli, except that No. 2 Commando had been joined in its encampment by the men of No. 9 Commando and No. 43 R.M. Commando. At the time we wondered if this number of Commandos, numbering close to 800 men – a ‘horde’ by Commando standards – was the forerunner of ‘something big’. But none of the usual ‘pre-op’ signs which any Commando knew so well were present and we settled down figuring that the No. 9 and No. 43 boys just needed a home for a spell. Sgt. Doug Webster and two others from No. 2 returned from Albania, where they had been cut-off during our withdrawal from Spilje and had lived with the partisans for a few days.
One day in late August, the author was told to report to Col. Fynn. It seemed unusual, and it was to be the beginning of another change of direction in my Commando service. Ted advised me that he would like me to go down to Taranto the next day and ‘talk to someone’ he knew rather well. He further stated that this personage (still un-named) would have a chat with me at the Bologna Hotel. The Colonel asked me if I wanted to go, to which I replied, ‘Of course, SIR!’ The interview was over. I wondered that night why the Colonel had ‘asked’ me to do something instead of just telling me what to do. The next day transport was supplied and conveyed me to the hotel at Taranto. Someone in R.A.F. uniform met me at the front entrance of the building and guided me inside. There was no office interview. A tall figure rose from an armchair in the lobby, eyed me, then stuck out his hand exclaiming, ‘Dodds-Parker! – Grenadier Guards!’ The figure had on his shoulders the insignia of a full Colonel. No time was wasted. He glanced at a single sheet of paper and then inquired, ‘Would you like to go to N.W. Europe and do something?’ I responded to this question by asking if I would be able to return to No. 2 Commando. He replied ‘Yes you will be carried on their strength until you return’. There was a brief pause and he concluded the interview by saying, ‘Go back to the Commando and talk to Colonel Fynn, be ready to move in 48 hours!’ The author returned to Monopoli and used the remainder of the day to go to Bari Hospital and visit Capt. Michael Stilwell who was making his recovery from his Spilje-raid wounds. I said ‘Goodbye’ to him then and wished him a speedy recovery. The next day I left and two days later I landed in Naples – the first step on a journey which was to terminate in Eindhoven, Holland.
Sarande
No. 2 Commando landed once again in Albania. Sept. 22nd 1944 was the date, almost two months after they had conducted their raid at Spilje. This time their objective was to be the capture of the Albanian town of Sarande, a port through which German army units (which had been involved in the occupation of Corfu and mainland Greece) were now withdrawing. No. 2 Commando operations began with their landing at a beach about six miles north of Sarande. It soon became apparent that the only road that No. 2 could use to approach their attack positions at Sarande was covered by in excess of 20 artillery positions which quickly went into action against the leading troops.
At about the same time as the attack force of No. 2 had become stalled, Col. Fynn received another piece of ‘cheerful’ information. It seems that ‘intelligence’ had determined that the German defenders of Sarande numbered 200 soldiers. What Colonel Ted was later advised was that (oops!) we dropped a zero, please read 2000 Germans in the place, instead of 200! Non-plussed, Ted asked for more help which duly arrived on Sept. 24th in the form of the veteran fighters of No. 40 R.M. Commando.
The now combined force of No. 2 and No. 40 Commandos battled on through atrocious terrain and monsoon-type weather conditions. The town of Sarande fell after a bitterly-contested battle on the afternoon of October 9th, 1944. After the fall of Sarande, the German garrison of Corfu had no place to go and some white flags were seen from just across the strait. About three troops of No. 2 Commando and No. 40 went over to Corfu in mid-November and took the surrender of the island’s German garrison. After a brief sojourn, No. 2 returned to Italy.
Because this author had been sent off on other business from No. 2 Commando prior to the operation at Sarande, the events describing this engagement were obtained from his perusal of the 2 Commando War Diary. It is sadly noted that the reading of that document included the names of: Capt. Peter Whitehouse of London, age 26; Capt. George Parsons of Berkhampstead, age 23; Cpl. Harold Gee of Manchester, age 24; Lieut. James Coyle of London, age 22; Gnr. Alfred Clark of Ipswich, age 23; Capt. The Rev. Banting of Nottingham, age 32; who had fallen in the battle for Sarande.
Comacchio
Remote from what was to be known as the ‘Battle of Lake Comacchio’, this author did not have a clue as to what was happening to his friends in No. 2 Commando. He had been inside Germany for some time and way out of touch.
It seems that No. 2 Commando had been joined by No. 9 Commando and Nos. 40 and 43 R.M. Commando to implement the task of grabbing a spit of land which extended from Lake Comacchio to the Adriatic Sea, with further exploitation northwards envisaged in the minds of the ‘planners’.
What transpired is that No. 2 jumped off as scheduled at 7:00 p.m. on April 1st, 1945 and lugged and tugged and humped their boats across the few inches of water topping a layer of oozy slime that comprised Lake Comacchio. It was not until 5:00 a.m. the next morning that they landed on the opposite shore, approached the enemy from the rear and engaged in an attack on everything in a German uniform. The ensuing operations by all the Commando units present resulted in all their ‘specified’ objectives being achieved, with the whole enemy forces south of Porto Garibaldi being captured or destroyed.
As there were many casualties noted after the day of April 17th, 1945, it seems that the fighting went on until a little beyond that date, after which No. 2 Commando retired to its former assembly area at Ravenna. The German forces in Italy and Austria surrendered on May 2nd, 1945 and No. 2 Commando had fired its last shot.
A very long time after the Lake Comacchio battle had gone into history as a ‘Battle Honour’ for the Commandos, this author must make the names of No. 2 Commando ‘fallen’ part of the Commando history. They were:
Sgt. Nelson Smallbone from London, age 25; Fus. Henry Panning from Greenwich, age 19; Pte. Frank Gray from Hampshire, age 22; Gnr. Edward Hughes from London, age 21; Pte. Fred Lyons from Southsea, age 29; Gnr. Norman Mitchell from London, age 28; Rfn. Albert Westwood from Lincoln, age 21; L/Sgt. Norman Campbell from Wooten, age 24; L/Cpl. Edwin Higginbottom from Derbyshire, age 26; L/Sgt. Joseph Jackson from Isle of Man, age 39; L/Bmdr. David King from Surrey, age 22; L/Sgt. Leslie Woods from Norwich, age 28; L/Cpl. Harold Briscoe from St. Helens, age 26; L/Sgt. Raymond Buckby from Leicestershire, age 23; Rfn. Arthur Cripps from Hemel Hempstead, age 23; L/Sgt. Raymond Davies from Acton, age 21; L/Bmdr. George Deaker from Kentish Town, age 25; Sgt. James Dickinson from Oldham, age 30; Gnr. Ernest Kelly from Greenwich, age 26; Rfn. William Neville from Armagh, N. Ireland, age 24; Pte. Alfred Porter from Essex, age 20; Dvr. Robert Scholem from Brussels, Belgium, age 21; and Gnr. Henry Stone from Shoreditch, age 25.
Looking backwards to those times, this author wonders about what times of sorrow must have been the lot of the families of these men who had fallen within days of the war’s ending. How muted their celebrations of V.E. Day must have been!
