FREE BOOK FOCUS: Sky Warriors

I know what you're thinking, and the answer is yes.

Two lovely friends, two new books, surely I have to do for one what I did for the other? A couple of weeks ago I had a look at Clare Mulley’s excellent Agent Zo. Today, I’m taking a deep dive into a section of Saul David’s latest: Sky Warriors: The History of the British Airborne Forces in the Second World War.

I know, I know, the same question went through my mind. IS THERE REALLY ANYTHING ELSE TO SAY. And then we interviewed Saul for History Hack and the answer was: Ooooooh. Well played Saul, well played.

Because this is not another string of yarns flung together as clickbait on a subject that has been done to death. He’s too smart for that, and he’s pulled it off without being either pretentious or clichéd…

Venice, 1617. Hell no. (Wikipedia)

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The history of the airborne in any nation owes itself to the fact that people are fundamentally idiots. Specifically boys, in this instance wearing tights or wigs. But it’s a four-century long path from: “Here’s a window. I wonder what will happen if I jump out of it,” to Market Garden. The idea of dropping soldiers out of the sky in huge numbers was not new at the beginning of the Second World War. People had written it off as nutty, but none other than Benjamin Franklin had suggested, as far back as 1783, 'ten thousand men descending from the clouds' using new-fangled hot air balloons to get behind an enemy’s rear on the field of battle.

It will not surprise anyone to know that Britain was behind the curve in 1939. Whilst pretty much everyone else in Europe with an army to speak of was thinking about how to develop airborne operations, Britain had set the bar low. It wasn’t until after Dunkirk, in spring 1940, that anyone seriously began to consider the concept of parachutes as a means for anything but a support role. Neither will it surprise some to learn that Churchill was involved in calling for thousands of men trained to parachute into ‘Fortress Europe.’ He had form for pushing tanks, early gas masks, any contraption that promised an advantage over the enemy during the First World War. (Unfortunately he was even more pushy about invading Turkey, but that’s another article) According to Saul, in May 1940, right about the time it was all hitting the fan, Britain’s parachute focus was on defending the country against German airborne troops invading the country. At the same time, however, under newly appointed War Minister Anthony Eden, the War Office was turning this into an offensive possibility.

What began as a battalion of 500 expanded rapidly:

‘Wearing their distinctive maroon berets, steel helmets and Dennison smocks, they served with distinction in every major theatre of the conflict - including North Africa, Sicily, mainland Europe and the Far East - and played a starring role in some of the most iconic airborne operations in history: the Bruneval Raid of February 1942; the capture of the Primosole, Pegasus and Arnhem Bridges in July 1943, June 1944 and September 1944 respectively; and Operation Varsity, the biggest single-day parachute drop in history, near Wesel in Germany in March 1945.’

Eventually, Britain would boast three airborne divisions in the Second World War, comprising parachutists and glider-borne lunatics. Because it’s one thing to jump out of a plane hanging onto a large silk petticoat at a few hundred feet. It’s another entirely to ‘effectively crash-[land] in a large box of steel, plywood and fabric.’

‘Both methods of insertion were extremely hazardous, but few of the Para Boys would have swapped places with the Glider Lads, and vice versa. John Howard, the hero of Pegasus Bridge, was genuinely surprised when a fellow officer moved from gliders to parachutes because he could imagine few worse situations than jumping out of an aircraft, praying his canopy would open and unsure where he would land. It was, in his view, infinitely preferable to arrive by glider with a pilot in charge. The Para Boys felt just as strongly that they didn't want to 'prang into action.’

Kind of reminds me of infantry gazing skyward from the trenches in WW1 pitying the pilots with their six week life expectancy, whilst said pilots looked down at the PBI. (Poor Bloody Infantry) The idea of having to rely on everything you could possibly carry into battle is what I can’t wrap my head around. Because it would be just my luck to land and realise I’d forgotten my ammunition. What I didn’t know until I read Saul’s book, was that as long as they stayed within their weight limit, parachutists could tag on anything they liked:

‘Company Sergeant Major Jack Harries of Merville Battery fame, for example, jumped bearing a Sten gun and four magazines, two Mark 36 Mills grenades, a phosphorus grenade, three Gammon bombs, gas cape, camouflage net, knife, ground-to-air recognition triangle, mess tin, 24-hour ration pack, map, message pad, entrenching tool, bootlaces, spare socks, singlets and briefs, small towel, washing and shaving kit, pay book, handkerchiefs, writing paper and envelopes, binoculars, torch, French money, shell dressing, pack of contraceptives, toilet paper, toggle rope, boiled sweets, boot polish and brush and comb. He also had an escape kit which included a compass hidden in a brass button, a four-inch metal file, silk maps sewn into his trousers and smock, and half a bottle of brandy.’

For no other reason than the fact that when Harries had packed to fight the Nazis, he was diligent enough to effectively pack a one-night stand kit to impress the ladies; the boiled sweets, the money, the brandy, the contraceptives, the change of underwear, and the toilet paper, makes Jack my new hero. In fact, I was about to skip Merville Battery on an upcoming trip to Normandy. Not anymore.

But that’s still four years off in 1940. Before Harries dropped into France, the British airborne forces  fought tight fisted authorities, and each other as by trial and error they developed their role.

Operation Colossus

Map taken from Sky Warriors, (William Collins)

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On 10th February 1941, a Lieutenant Tony Deane-Drummond was sitting in an aeroplane waiting to take part in Britain’s first airborne mission of the Second World War and the target of those men who were about to leap from a plane and float down into southern Italy was the Apulian aqueduct on the ankle of the boot-shape that forms the country. The principle was sound enough. If the Italian’s in the region had no drinking water, they couldn’t fight effectively, let alone in both Albania and North Africa at the same time. This mission wasn’t going to win the war, but if successful, it would mightily inconvenience the Italians, leave them wondering from where other British airborne troops might float down, and provide some much needed propaganda.

And so in the aeroplane, ‘for about 10 seconds there was pandemonium as the plywood doors were hauled open and the first two paratroopers swung their legs over the edge of the hole… Then the red light came on, signalling five seconds to go.’

It was night time:

‘The red light changed to green. 'Number One!' shouted Lawley. The first paratrooper dropped through the hole. Numbers Two and Three followed. Lawley then pressed the release switch for the containers and their coloured parachutes which fell from the bomb bay. After a slight pause, he counted out Numbers Four and Five. The latter was Deane-Drummond.

He remembered a 'tearing gale, a slight jerk', and then 'swinging gently in blissful silence a few hundred feet above the ground’. Dropped at 500 feet, it took Deane-Drummond just 15 seconds to reach terra firma. He landed perfectly in a ploughed field barely 100 yards from the aqueduct which 'stretched below and in front of him across the steep little ravine of the Torrente Tragino.’

What was the setup for this inaugural raid? Their weapons were dropped in containers:

‘having opened them and distributed the weapons, [Deane-Drummond] divided his section into two and ordered them to search the two clusters of farm buildings and bring the occupants back to the aqueduct where he would be waiting. It was deathly quiet. His plane had been due to drop third, but there was no sign of anybody else. Had they lost their way? If so, and he and his men were on their own, they would have to do the best they could with the explosives they had brought. But the chances of doing any serious damage were not good.’

As his men returned with nearby peasants, two dozen men, women and children, to his immense relief Deane-Drummond heard engines overheard. More paratroopers were arriving:

‘As the parachutes floated down, the Italian peasants grouped near the aqueduct 'continually crossed themselves in amazement', while their children leapt in the air and clapped their hands. 'Angeli, angeli!' they shouted. A short while later, hearing a 'loud crashing' through the bushes and thorn ash in the valley below, Deane-Drummond's men prepared to fire. But when the trees parted out came Major 'Tag' Pritchard, 'a little out of breath, as his plane load had been landed about a mile away down by the river'. Pritchard was accompanied by Sergeant 'Clem' Clements, the first man out of the plane, who had almost dropped in the wrong place. But the pilot realised his error in time and switched the light back from green to red, causing Clements to be grabbed by his colleagues and held with his feet dangling through the hole until the plane had made another circuit. They were still dropped too close to the [River] Ofanto, causing Lance Corporal Harry Boulter of the North Staffordshire Regiment to land awkwardly on rocks and break his ankle. He was being helped along by two of his comrades.’

It was not all good news. Others were dropped late, and some had just vanished.’ Even more worrying was the news that some of the planes had failed to drop their containers, giving Paterson and the remaining sappers only a third of the explosives that had been allocated for the mission.’ Which is a problem when the sole purpose of your being there is to blow something up.

The Tragino Aqueduct and the surrounding terrain. Copyright: H. Pexton.

They managed it, however, despite the missing explosives, the missing sappers and the fact that they had been expecting to destroy masonry, not reinforced concrete which would require six times more bang.

‘Shortly before 12.30 a.m., Paterson 'fired a one pound guncotton slab, the warning signal that the main charge was to be blown a minute later and that the protective parties were to join the sappers'. Paterson and Pritchard lit the fuses and ran for cover over the brow of the hill… At the same time, Deane-Drummond ordered Corporal Watson of the Royal Engineers to fire the charge at the little bridge. Once he had done so, the pair ran to safety. Boom! A huge explosion rocked the aqueduct followed, 30 seconds later, by a Whoomf! at the small bridge.’ It had gone up in a 'cloud of flying concrete, rails and bits of masonry'. The civilians in the cottages started to wail… The small bridge had been 'neatly cut and one end lay in the bed of the stream.’

Huzzah. But now the enemy most certainly knew they were there. Had anyone given any thought as to how they would get away once the job was done?

Some of the men who made the jump (Wikipedia)

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‘At first, the only people who knew about the plan of escape were Pritchard and Deane-Drummond. The other officers were let in on the secret at the aerodrome in Malta, and the sergeants after the aqueduct was severed. The junior ranks were never told.’ The men were split into three groups to maximise their chances of making a rendezvous point southeast of Salerno. That’s fifty miles, across enemy soil. There were very few Italian speakers. One was Private Nicola Nastri of 11th SAS Battalion, ‘who would travel under the pseudonym Private John Tristan to protect him from Italian reprisals.’ Another was a 44-year-old civilian called Fortunato Picchi, a former head waiter at the Savoy Hotel 'who was fanatical both in his hatred of [Mussolini's Fascists] and his love of Italy:’

‘Picchi was, at face value, an odd choice to take on such a dangerous mission. A 'suave polite little man', with a bald top to his head and 'slight middle-aged spread', he had no military experience.' He was selected because he had volunteered to return to his homeland as an SOE agent. His SOE report stated: 'non-politically minded, but anti-fascist. An idealist, an excellent worker and organiser who cannot allow failure. Wants above all things for everyone to be treated fairly… To protect his identity, Picchi used the alias of a Free Frenchman called 'Private Pierre Dupont'. For security reasons, this was all kept from the men of X Troop who assumed Picchi would return with them.’

Picchi was never supposed to try and leave, he was to stay in Italy and act as an agent feeding information back to Britain. For now, however, he stayed with is group:

‘Before departing, the men were ordered to lighten their loads by ditching their heavier weapons, including Brens and tommy guns. This still left each man carrying 'a 30-pound pack containing five days' rations, mess tin, water bottle and miniature primus stove'. For arms they kept only their Colt automatic pistols and their two hand grenades. Their plan was to climb the mountain behind the aqueduct and then follow the contours until they reached the highest point of the pass over the Apennines before moving down the north side of the Sele valley towards the Mediterranean'. Lance Corporal Harry Boulter, however, would be left behind: having broken his ankle on landing, it would be impossible for him to keep up. Pritchard and Deane-Drummond both shook his hand and wished him luck, with the latter trying to convey by expression rather than words how important it was that Boulter did not crack under questioning. The lance corporal responded: 'On your way, you lot. Don't waste time on me. I'm the lucky one. I've got out of that bloody long march over the mountains.’

As they set off, dogs began to bark. 'It seemed impossible,' noted Deane-Drummond, 'that we would not have all Italy on our heels by the morning. This was going to be no easy walk over the Scottish moors. We bent our backs and laboured slowly through the mud and up the hills.? With their rubber-soled jump boots slipping on the slick ground, it was heavy going and they stopped every three-quarters of an hour to munch chocolate or sip a little water until they were 'sufficiently recovered to continue'. On and on they tramped, pulling themselves up the sides of the steep little gorges by their hands and then slithering down the other side on their bottoms.

At 7:00am they found a 'nice, sheltered little ravine in which to lie up during the day'. There was a stream nearby and plenty of cover, so they took off their equipment and tried to sleep. They had walked for about six miles, but were still only three and a half miles from the aqueduct, as the crow flies, and would have to double their mileage on future nights if they were to reach the coast in time.

After a 'wonderful three hours' rest', they were woken at 10:00am, by the sound of a low-flying plane that was obviously looking for them. They kept perfectly still, their faces to the ground, until the plane flew away. Soon after, they pulled Primus stoves from their packs and boiled water to make sweet tea or a greasy porridge of biscuits and pemmican. The latter, made from meat extract with added fat, was an old polar explorers' standby that tasted like 'concentrated greasy Bovril'. Deane-Drummond found it 'quite nauseating', though it assuaged his hunger.

From their hiding place they could see peasants at work in the fields and, beyond them, the village of Calitri perched on the side of the mountain. The sun was shining and a light breeze 'brought the delicate smell of wild thyme, mint and rosemary' wafting over them, though they were in 'no position to appreciate such muted pleasures'. Deane-Drummond's chief concern was a 300-foot-high cliff, a quarter of a mile ahead, that they would have to scale that evening. When night fell, they donned their packs and, having crossed a fast-flowing stream, set off up the cliff using a goat track that Tag' Pritchard had spotted earlier that day. 'With some difficulty we pulled ourselves up the slope of mud and shingle, noted Deane-Drummond, 'using every bit of scrub or long grass as we scrambled up to the top. All our reserves of energy had been used up to climb that hill and we were to feel it later on??

No one felt the strain more than Fortunato Picchi, the middle-aged former Savoy waiter, who 'appeared to be suffering from some chest disorder and coughed continuously'. Yet he was determined to keep pace with the others and managed to do so.’ They crept slowly on in single file 'with ears strained for any unusual sound'. They could see a few cottages against the skyline, and assumed they must be the outskirts of the village of Pescopagano. Before them stretched mile after mile of wild and seemingly impassable country, every natural hillock and glade distorted by the moonlight into 'grotesque and weird shapes'.

Few landmarks could be picked out, so they decided to march by compass to a large crossroads near the source of the River Sele. They were always walking 'either up or down along the side of a hill', but did manage to find a small road.

Deciding it was too risky to walk along the road, they kept it a quarter of a mile below them as a guide, 'trying to avoid the scattered little farmhouses which were becoming more numerous'. At every brook they threw themselves flat to drink the ice-cold water. With some of the men close to exhaustion, Pritchard ordered a halt for a brew. The hot sweet tea was like nectar’.

At 1:00am on 12th February, having not seen any traffic for some time, they took to the road and 'damn the risk'. Five or six miles later they came to a crossroads that, they reckoned, was the highest point of their route to the coast. It was now downhill all the way and their only concern was to find a place to hide up before dawn. Looking down into the valley, they could see it 'stretching for miles in the moonlight, with rugged cultivated sides,’  dotted with innumerable farmhouses, and it seemed unlikely that 'things would continue so well.’

A light clopping of hooves on the road ahead brought them out of their reverie. They were too tired, and there was too little cover, to make a run for it, so Pritchard formed them into single file and told Private Nastri to call the step in Italian. A pony cart laden with vegetables came into view. Fortunately, its female peasant driver was fast asleep. With this mini-crisis averted, they left the road. Deane-Drummond's 'feet ached as they had never ached before', and his whole body was 'limp with exhaustion'.

With dawn approaching, they needed a hiding place. The maps indicated that a nearby hilltop was covered with woods, but he was having none of it. He waved his gun aggressively, insisting that they lay down their arms. Pritchard consulted with Deane-Drummond, telling him that he was minded to give the order. When the lieutenant disagreed, Pritchard said: 'All right, Tony, you throw a grenade at those people on the right and I will throw mine over there. Deane-Drummond knew he could never do that. Men, women and children were everywhere and there were bound to be casualties among them if they tried to fight their way out. The best they could hope for was a few extra hours of freedom at the price of a particularly odious and inglorious action'.

Reluctantly he agreed with Pritchard who told the men. There was a shocked silence, followed by an incredulous voice: 'Aren't we going to make a fight of it, sir?’ Pritchard's face betrayed his anguish. 'I'm sorry,' he replied, 'but we have to give in.’ As soon as they dropped their pistols, the peasants came surging up to them and took all their equipment, much to Deane-Drummond's 'chagrin and disgust'. The date was 12 February

1941. He wrote later: 'I have never felt so ashamed before or since, that we should have surrendered to a lot of practically unarmed Italian peasants.’

I’ll leave the story there. To find out what Britain implemented out after analysing all this, you’ll need to buy the book. In the meantime, in terms of the question, why do we need more airborne content? I’ll leave you with Saul’s answer:

‘This is the first book to join up the dots and tell the story of Airborne across the whole war, drawing on multiple archives, published memoirs, unpublished diaries and letters, and interviews with participants. Since the publication of The Red Beret by Hilary St George Saunders in 1950, and T. B. H. Otway's official history of Airborne Forces of the Second World War a year later, fragments of the story have been told by, among others, Cornelius Ryan, W. F. Buckingham, Antony Beevor, Lloyd Clark and Mark Urban. But Sky Warriors is the first book to knit all those stories together into a single continuous narrative, told in the words of those who were there.’

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Sky Warriors: The History of the British Airborne Forces in the Second World War is out now, published by William Collins in the UK. It will be released in the United States on 1st October 2024.