The Lost Band of Brothers (15 page)

One of those who Louis Franck relied upon for information was the British Vice Consul in Fernando Po, Colin Michie. His office overlooked the port. On 10 June 1940, Italy had entered the war on the side of Germany. That same day an Italian cargo liner of 7,651grt, the
Duchessa d’Aosta
, had sought sanctuary in Fernando Po’s harbour, ostensibly because her master feared capture on the high seas by their new enemy, the Royal Navy. She had been moored there, 50 yards from the western end of the quay, ever since. Her master had been recalled to Spain but her crew of forty to fifty men – and one woman, a 55-year-old stewardess – remained on board, incarcerated in port.

Michie sent a series of detailed intelligence reports back to Lagos for onward transmission via Franck to SOE in London. He managed to obtain details of the cargo manifest
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– wool, copra, hides, copper and coffee – and reported that her ship’s radio still appeared to be working, suggesting that she appeared capable, at least, of sending reports of British shipping movements back to Italy and Germany. Rumours that she might also be carrying armaments were fuelled by the acting Chief Officer’s refusal to produce for inspection the top page of the cargo manifest. If there was nothing to hide, ran the argument, why not produce the missing page? It did not appear. By January 1941 Michie was reporting back to Franck that two small German vessels had also now sought shelter in Santa Isabel, the
Likomba
, a German tug, and the
Bibundi
, a German diesel-driven barge. At the end of August 1941 Lagos cabled London that Michie had found it impossible to bribe the Captain or the crew of the
Duchessa d’Aosta
and ‘it was therefore suggested to send a “Maid Honor” party with a canoe at night to immobilise the ship and at the same time to try to bring back the tug. An attempt would be made to put the blame on anti-Axis Spaniards.’
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In London, Michie’s news and Franck’s stream of reports caused interest and not a little consternation. Setting aside the missing page of cargo manifest and the possibility, however remote, that the
Duchessa d’Aosta
might be carrying armaments and using her radio to transmit shipping movement details to Italy, her very presence in Fernando Po represented, to SOE London, both a challenge and a threat. A challenge because, though she lay at anchor within a neutral harbour, both she and the German tug
Likomba
represented valuable trophies of war that, if seized rather than sunk or immobilised, could augment Britain’s rapidly depleting shipping fleet. And a threat because, although she sheltered under Spanish ‘neutrality’ laws and should by international maritime law remain impounded for the duration of hostilities, that Spanish ‘neutrality’ was extremely lopsided: the Spanish Governor of Fernando Po, Capt. Victor Sanchez-Diez, was known to be ‘violently pro-Nazi,’ reported Michie.
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Were
Duchessa d’Aosta
to decide to up-anchor and sail – perhaps to support German or Italian U-boats out in the South Atlantic – it was almost certain Spain would do nothing to prevent her leaving. It was equally clear that there was little that Britain could do to stop her … or was there?

By early January 1941 Brigadier Gubbins, ‘Caesar’ – Lt Col Julius Hanau, his deputy on matters relating to West Africa – and Head of Lagos Station ‘W’, Louis Franck, had begun considering ways in which the potential threat posed by the Italian passenger liner might be countered, especially as it appeared that the Spanish authorities in Fernando Po were increasing both the armaments that overlooked the harbour and the size of the Spanish garrison committed to defend it. Options included simply blowing her up or boarding her in port at night, capturing her crew, starting her engines and simply steaming out of harbour into international waters. In May SOE sent a further four officers out to West Africa to support the Franck mission in the field and to train black African recruits in the demolition and sabotage skills devised and perfected in the SOE special schools in the misty highlands of Scotland. In the following weeks there were more detailed reports from Michie in his office overlooking the harbour: the tug
Likomba
had been noticed taking fuel on board – perhaps she was getting ready for sea; the
Duchessa d’Aosta
was taking on fresh drinking water; she had painted the top of her funnel red; her radio was not prevented from transmitting and had been sending messages to a German/Swiss shipping company in Las Palmas. Straws in the wind. All these little signs could presage departure – or nothing at all. In London, SOE formed the view that all three vessels in Port Isobel – the
Duchessa d’Aosta
, the German tug
Likomba
and the German barge
Bibundi –
now represented what they considered a ‘supply fleet in being’ and asked ‘W’ – Louis Franck in Lagos – for his ideas as to how they might move against all three ships. He replied on 12 July that, given the present situation and the ramping up of readiness amongst the Spanish garrison, ‘action was almost impossible’.

That same day, 12 July 1941, Gubbins met March-Phillipps in London and the two had lunch together. There was a further meeting two days later after which Admiral John Godfrey, the Director of Naval Intelligence, agreed to the relocation of
Maid Honor
from Poole to West Africa to ‘undertake subversive operations on both land and sea’. Twelve days later Godfrey’s proposal that the now named ‘Maid Honor Force’ should be detached from Poole and sent to West Africa on SOE duty was endorsed by the Admiralty. Five days after that and ten before
Maid Honor
sailed from Poole for Dartmouth, Admiral Godfrey sent a signal to Admiral Sir William James, Commander-in-Chief Portsmouth, stating that
Maid Honor
was to be detached from his command and sent to the South Atlantic to ‘carry out such sabotage operations as may be ordered by SOE … No definite project is yet in view, but plans are at present being drawn up for her.’
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In fact, Gubbins had given March-Phillipps ‘a general direction’
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that the crew should be made available for whatever purposes ‘W’ (Franck) might wish, provided always that a reasonable crew was kept available for her at the shortest notice. It was further requested that C-in-C South Atlantic, Admiral Willis, ‘afford this ship any assistance she may require. At the same time, SO2 [SOE] would like to place Maid Honor at the disposal of the Admiral to carry out any operations he may think fit.’ No mention at this stage, then, of any cutting-out operation involving an Italian merchant vessel moored in neutral waters.

Reading between the lines, it appears likely that the Admiralty gave their approval to Admiral Godfrey’s proposal, not because they supported possible plans to attack enemy shipping in a neutral harbour – such an idea was still in its early stages and unlikely to have been brought before their Lordships in embryonic form – but because his proposal removed the troublesome
Maid Honor
to distant waters. There may indeed have been discussions as to what she might do when she arrived, but sanctioning a long, slow 3,000-mile sea voyage to West Africa was not at all the same thing as sanctioning clandestine attacks in a neutral port when she got there. It was a distinction that may perhaps have been lost on March-Phillipps in the flurry and excitement of imminent departure.

It is extremely likely, however, that Gubbins, during those meetings with March-Phillipps on 12 and 14 July, briefed him, not only on the possibilities of using
Maid Honor
to search out possible U-boat supply bases along the coast, but also about the two tempting targets – the
Duchessa d’Aosta
and the
Likomba
– in neutral Fernando Po that he and the saboteurs aboard
Maid Honor
might one day, Admiralty permitting, be sanctioned to attack. It is also extremely likely that something else was drummed into the impatient, impulsive army subaltern seconded to SOE and now Captain of a commandeered Brixham trawler about to sail to Africa: that this was a Top Secret, disavowed mission. He and his men were on their own. If discovered, they would be disowned. There could be no back up, no admission of ownership, no rescue mission. They would travel, work and fight in civilian clothes. From their masthead they would fly the flag of Sweden. If captured, they could expect to be executed as spies.

Now, perhaps, despite expectations,
Maid Honor
had arrived safely in Freetown. What she needed was a reason for being there: a mission. London cabled Lagos on 25 September: ‘News of safe arrival Maid Honor causes us to occupy our minds with problem her suitable employment.’ The same signal went on to suggest investigating possible German radio stations or submarine bases that might – or might not – be within
Maid Honor
’s striking range. London concluded: ‘We invite your suggestions with a view examination and authorisation this end and preparation all information regarding targets you may have in mind.’
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Lagos had already put up the first considered plan for an attack on the vessels at Fernando Po at the end of August. ‘W’ had also proposed another attack on axis shipping elsewhere: two German ships, the
Wamaru
and the
Wagogo
lying in Lobito in Portuguese Angola, another neutral colony further south. All that he – and
Maid Honor
– needed now was official sanction from the Admiralty and the Foreign Office, but in that regard there was nothing but a lengthening silence.
Maid Honor
was left to swing around her anchor for three long weeks as London stalled. Her crew spent their days swimming, spear-fishing, sun-bathing, replenishing their ship’s supplies from a parsimonious Naval Stores and keeping fit: ‘I get a half-mile swim and a half-mile run every day before breakfast. Also, I am again very brown and thoroughly acclimatised to the sun and immune to sunburn. We wear nothing all day (aboard and ashore) but bathing trunks and sand shoes.’ It was an idyllic, welcome interlude – just so long as it did not go on too long. Writing home Appleyard admitted: ‘Really this camp is for us a sort of holiday and rest camp.’
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On 29 September ‘W’ signalled SOE Headquarters in London. He poured cold water on their target suggestions and then returned to the proposed Fernando Po mission: ‘This scheme is being endangered by delay and will require several weeks after approval by you for preparation … If not approved and as long as prohibited bangs against Vichy ship maintained utility of vessel nil.’
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On 30 September ‘Caesar’ signalled bad news from London. The Fernando Po plan was NOT approved. A follow-up signal the next day confirmed that the Admiralty, when pressed, had expressed ‘complete indifference’
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at the prospect of an attack on the
Duchessa d’Aosta.
Given the climate of enthusiasm for the entire Fernando Po proposal, the seizure of the
Likomba
– the Admiralty was ‘ignorant existence [
sic
] this tug’ – had not even been mentioned. Despite support from the Ministry of Economic Warfare, SOE’s parent body who were ‘interested’
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in the immobilisation of the Italian liner, there was thus no prospect of action on the immediate horizon for the sun-tanned, battle-fit men impatiently awaiting orders in Freetown. Sweltering in the heat, Appleyard’s thoughts turned to England and home:

I suppose autumn is well on at home now and the trees and leaves must be in their finest colouring. It’s a lovely season. What is it Keats says: ‘Seasons of mists and mellow fruitfulness, close bosomed friend of the maturing sun.’ The harvest too will all be in now I suppose and ploughing will be in progress. I wonder what sort of fruit season you had at home. And the evenings will be drawing in, with a feeling of frost in the air. And I suppose you will be getting the first of those strange evenings when the sun drops to the horizon with a bank of mist and is just a red disc, and there is a vague mistiness everywhere and a strange quietness. And celery for tea! What a lot of character a country like this misses because there are no seasons – no time of growth, no autumn and no dead winter when the trees are bare.
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On 10 October, with the situation no clearer and the whole Fernando Po operation in danger of stalling,
Maid Honor
left Freetown on her first clandestine mission. Grudgingly authorised by Vice Admiral Algernon Willis after repeated orders from London – the Admiral felt, frankly, that
Maid Honor
would be better off turning round and sailing home – they were ordered to snoop along the coast from the Gulf of Guinea to neutral Liberia looking for secret submarine bases or supply dumps. They sailed from Freetown with even more hardware than they had brought with them. March-Phillipps had managed to procure four depth charges, just in case they met German U-boats. He was aware, however, that the blast from his depth charges would not discriminate between friend and foe: ‘If we can’t knock a sub out any other way, we shall heave these into the ocean. The sub will then proceed to perdition, closely followed by ourselves.’
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That first trip lasted five days and – if the log is to be believed – they
did
see a German U-boat; possibly: ‘Sunday, October 12. Sighted shape like a submarine which disappeared suddenly. Reported by wireless. Engine failed.’
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Most trips lasted longer than just a few days as they slipped into a routine of operational patrol followed by rest, recuperation and refit back at Lumley Beach.
Maid Honor
would sail along the coast, investigate creeks, lagoons and deltas, send a scouting party ashore, perhaps investigate a promising estuary by Folbot canoe. On one of these recces of the Pongo River, begun on 7 November 1941, March-Phillipps and Appleyard launched their canoe whilst
Maid Honor
was still ten miles offshore.
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They paddled to land and then spent three days, plagued by mosquitoes, lying up in the mango swamps by day and playing chess in the sand with twigs to pass the time in the sweltering heat before paddling up river at night looking for signs of the elusive enemy they never found. One night, with Appleyard in the bow, March-Phillipps accused him of slacking when progress slowed to a crawl: ‘Come on, Apple. Do your bit,’
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he hissed. The reason for the slow progress became apparent: a crocodile, jaws agape, white teeth gleaming in the moonlight, was straddling the bows of the frail canoe, slowing their progress. A swipe of the paddle by Appleyard dislodged him and the pace immediately picked up. Dangerous times in mosquito, shark and crocodile-infested waters.