The signing of the Armistice was a watershed moment, as far as Temple was concerned. Prior to that, he’d reported to SOE headquarters on what a perilous existence he’d been forced to lead with the partisans. It was a ‘cloak-and-dagger affair, only moving at night . . . minimum of smoke from fires, kit always ready for immediate move . . . I covered some one thousand miles on foot carrying my kit and arms . . . We had to cross rivers, roads and railways all held by the Germans . . . in small, very mobile parties . . .’
Come the Armistice, all that had changed. Temple had urged his partisans to seize the moment and embrace the spirit of resistance. Taking advantage of the ensuing confusion, he’d led his band of fighters to strike at a major airbase lying just to the rear of the Gothic Line, in a daring mission that had proven spectacularly successful.
‘We surrounded the airfield and held it for long enough to destroy eighty-nine Italian planes on the ground, and all the hangars and buildings,’ Temple had reported. Then with characteristic flair: ‘We flew away one CR.42 to start the Partisan Air Force . . .’
In destroying those dozens of enemy warplanes, Temple’s operation was on a par with some of the most successful raids of the war. The lone CR.42 Falco – Falcon – that his force had liberated was a biplane fighter widely used by the Italian air force. Despite its seemingly archaic design, it had scored an enviable kill ratio on many fronts due to its robustness and manoeuvrability.
In the aftermath of the raid, Temple’s forces had been hunted remorselessly by the German military using armour, artillery and dive bombers. The lone CR.42 Falco that they’d ‘liberated’ was blown up by a tank. Temple responded in textbook fashion: ‘We withdrew from direct offensive tactics and went back to guerrilla warfare.’ While the enemy held the main population centres, his bands of partisans began to tighten their grip on the remoter villages and hills.
‘Outside the perimeter of the towns the Germans put up notices: BEWARE, YOU ARE NOW ENTERING BANDIT TERRITORY, ’ Temple reported of the time. He sent out his men at night to turn the signs around, so that ‘BANDIT TERRITORY’ became the German-held towns. ‘The Hun got very annoyed and threatened the direst of penalties to anyone caught doing this,’ Temple pointed out, which only served to encourage him.
By late September 1944, Major Temple was master of all that he surveyed. Set at an altitude of some 3,000 feet, his headquarters lay in a mountain hut nicknamed ‘The Farm’. It boasted views across the plains to Turin – once Italy’s capital, and a major business hub – and the Alps beyond. On a clear day the glistening peaks of Mont Blanc and the Matterhorn were visible. On a flat patch of ground several thousand feet higher Temple had established his dropping zone (DZ), into which the Allies were flying loads of kit, explosives and weaponry.
From their Apennine valley fortress Temple’s 500-strong band of partisans launched daring raids, using captured vehicles to execute fast hit-and-run strikes. As Mike Lees was about to learn, Temple’s night-time summons was the result of one such recent mission.
After thirty minutes dashing through the moonlit landscape, Lees arrived at The Farm. Typically, he was in standard British battledress. By contrast, Major Temple cut a very different kind of a figure. A big part of Temple’s remit here was intelligence-gathering, and he’d just paid a clandestine visit to Turin disguised as a local. Such derring-do was all part of a normal day’s work as far as Temple was concerned. With his dark looks plus his tanned and weather-beaten features, he could easily pass as a local.
‘Dressed as he was,’ Lees remarked of Temple that evening, ‘he could never have been recognised as an Englishman.’
At well over six foot and with a broad, rugby-player’s physique, Lees towered over most of his contemporaries. Blessed with no-nonsense, honest looks, he was a man born and bred for plain-speaking action, as opposed to subterfuge. Hailing from a family with a long history of soldiering, he had cousins and even a sister serving with elite forces in various theatres of the war.
Temple and Lees had operated together for little more than three weeks here, and for much of that time Temple had been away in Turin on clandestine business. It was precious little time to really get to know each other. Temple viewed Lees as a hard and a tough operator, but what he was about to propose would test any man’s resolve. It would be the measure of Lees as to whether he accepted the mission. No man could be ordered to do as Temple intended, especially as all in SOE were volunteers.
‘Sorry to drag you out at this time of night,’ Temple began, ‘but we’ve got an important decision to make.’
As he spoke, he gestured at the two – presumably Italian – civilians who were with him. Lees had never laid eyes on either of them. They were older, better dressed and somehow more distinguished looking than your average partisan. Lees closed the door firmly behind him, sensing that tonight’s business was especially sensitive. Temple introduced the two strangers, using their war names only.
‘Salvi’ and ‘Piva’ hailed from Turin, he explained, and they were senior members of the Italian resistance. They had crucial intelligence that they somehow needed to get into Allied commanders’ hands. ‘This information from Turin is red hot . . . they also know a lot about enemy dispositions and weaknesses . . . They’ve volunteered to go to southern Italy if we can get them out.’
‘How d’you intend to do that?’ Lees queried. ‘By air?’
The partisans were busy building an airstrip so Allied cargo planes could land with supplies, but Lees didn’t think it was going to be ready for some time.
Temple waved a hand dismissively. ‘We can’t wait for that . . . They’ll have to walk out through the lines.’ He paused. ‘Salvi and Piva are damned important, and I don’t want them falling by the wayside. It’s going to prove a tricky journey, especially as there are no guides who’ve been through before, and the front is always changing.’ Temple gazed at Lees, searchingly. ‘I need someone who knows the ropes to command the party.’
By now Lees realised what was afoot. ‘Would you like me to go?’ he ventured.
Someone had to say it, even though it would mean attempting to cross the formidable defences of the Gothic Line. It had never occurred to him that this might be the kind of mission he would be offered. Indeed, he had been looking forward to waging war with the partisans, making life a living hell for the enemy until all of Italy was liberated from Nazi control.
As if sensing what was on Lees’ mind, Temple began outlining exactly what he intended, stressing just how quickly Lees could return. ‘You get the party through to France – if you’re with them they won’t get held up by security. Beg a plane to take you all to southern Italy, report on everything we’ve been doing to the chaps at base and chivvy them up to send more supplies. Then come back again, dropping with the first sortie.’
That was more like it, as far as Lees was concerned. ‘All right, I think it’s an excellent idea,’ he agreed, his spirits brightening.
He had another, personal reason for accepting the mission. Shortly before deploying Lees had married Gwendoline Johnson, who was serving with the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry – the FANYs – in Italy. To a large degree the FANYs provided cover for women who were serving as SOE agents. He and ‘Gwen’ had met during a time when Lees had been agitating to join Temple’s mission and refusing to take the leave to which he was entitled, post-Yugoslavia. That had only served to fuel his ‘wild man’ reputation, but Gwen hadn’t seemed to mind.
Indeed, as she was serving as an assistant to one of SOE’s key planners in Italy, she began quietly lobbying for her sweetheart to land a mission with Temple, despite the fact that it would take him behind the lines once more. If he took up Temple’s present proposal, Lees figured he could catch a few days in his wife’s delightful company, before flying back to rejoin the partisans.
‘Just make sure you come back as soon as you can,’ Temple reminded him.
‘Don’t worry,’ Lees replied, ‘I want to be in at the kill. So, when do we start?’