SAS Operation Galia Veteran - Sergeant Trevor Harrold’s Story
(c) rob hann
Author’s note – This blog has been posted on armistice weekend 2017 as a tribute to the men of SAS Galia and to Trevor Harrold (now 96), an incredibly brave man. I had the great honour to meet ex-SAS Pct Sgt Trevor Harrold at his home in Essex recently after contact was made by Trevor’s son John. Surrounded by his SAS wartime memorabilia photographs and notes (including his still colourful silk escape map) we spent a fascinating afternoon hearing about Trevor’s SAS wartime service and, particularly, his role on SAS Operation Galia. Here is his story….
I was in the army reserve when the war started and volunteered with the local 409th Territorial Army Group who, at the outbreak of war were operating as an Anti-Aircraft (Ack Ack) Unit. In August 1939 that unit was called up for regular service. We were a mobile battery which travelled around the UK and were used to protect towns and cities which were coming under attack by the Luftwaffe. I reached the rank of Bombardier and then transferred to the Air Landing Brigade (Airborne Artillery). This group was part of the 11th City of London Yeomanry, also known as the Rough Riders. This posting involved training in gliders. By 1943 I was with the Rough Riders in North Africa, Italy and Sicily. This mobile unit was responsible for maintaining Ack Ack cover to Allied airfields across those regions.
It was in the UK in late 1943 when I saw a notice go up in the canteen asking for volunteers to join the Special Air Service (SAS). It promised an extra shilling a week, which was a bonus worth having in those days. In order to be accepted into the SAS we first had to complete and pass parachute training, which was held in Chesterfield.
That was quite intensive and included jumping from barrage balloons and completing 8 jumps from Whitley bombers. Having passed that our basic training took place extensively in Scotland (Troon, Prestwick) where we had to learn to live off the land, foraging for berries, roots and other food to sustain ourselves. We had to do a lot of PT and other fitness tests. Failure to complete the course would have meant being RTU’d (returned to unit).
After basic training I finally got my parachute wings on 14 April 1944 and joined the SAS on 26 May 1944, reverting to the rank of Private.
Just before Christmas 1944 (and by now promoted to Sergeant) I was deployed to Brindisi in the “heel” of Italy which had only been recently liberated by the Allies. In the lead up to Christmas we were briefed for a mission which was to take place behind enemy lines in the North of Italy and on the 27th December 1944. I along with 32 other men from the 2nd SAS were to be parachuted into the Apennine Mountains into the valley of Rossano on what was code-named “Operation Galia”.
The weather conditions were atrocious. I remember it was freezing cold as we bailed out of the Dakota. We landed on the mountain slopes in deep snow. We didn’t have proper winter camouflage kit. We were met by the local Italians and partisans who gave us a friendly welcome and put us up in barns and other billets for the night. Our Guvnor (Captain Bob Walker Brown) split us up into groups of 5 or 6 (known as ‘sticks’) and my stick were assigned a young Italian partisan guide whose job it would be to lead us to our first target. Our main role was to try to create a diversion by shooting up the German lines of communication. By landing our force during daylight and with all the kit and weapons dropped at the same time, we hoped the Jerrys would think there was a major force attacking them from the rear.
My stick (Number 5) was led by Lt Shaughnessy, a tough no-nonsense Irishman and comprised of 6 men in total. I was the senior NCO among the group. We spent two days and nights crossing rivers and mountains to head south, towards the area of Aulla and Reggio. We followed our guide who was just a teenager. He knew the mountains like the back of his hand. Eventually we ended up in a mountain village and managed to find some shelter in an old barn a few hundred yards outside the village in the forest, to plan our lines of attack and to get some kip.
We always knew we would face problems knowing who to trust, not least because most of us couldn’t speak a word of Italian. We also knew there were people with fascist sympathies in the mountains. Unfortunately for us, we must have been betrayed. During the early hours of New Year’s Eve we found ourselves surrounded by a force of Brigata Nera (Italian fascist forces allied to the Germans).
We had no choice but to surrender. It was a bitter blow to have come all that way, do all that training and yet to be put in the bag before we had even had then chance to go into battle.
We were roughed up, blindfolded and had our hands tied behind our backs and we were tied us to each other so we couldn’t escape.
They must have spotted our young guide’s partisan badge. That was all the excuse they needed. They shot him on the spot as an example to anyone else in the village who may have had any thoughts of helping us. We thought we would be next for the high jump, but it soon became clear they had other plans and we were loaded on to trucks and taken to a jail in La Spezia.
I don’t recall much about that. It was a long time ago and being taken POW wasn’t something I was particularly proud of or wanted to remember. We were there to do a job but ended up ‘in the bag’ before we’d got going.
The war wasn’t going well for the Germans. The black shirts also had one eye on what they could see was the end game. We were very lucky to survive. When they did question us, it was always the same question “how many” they said, meaning “how many troops were in the mountains?” We told them there were thousands of us and that thousands more were coming.
After only a couple of days at La Spezia jail, we were moved North to Verona before being transported further and further into Germany as the Allies advanced. We had to stand up in over-crowded cattle trucks, hundreds of us cheek-by-jowl for days on end. The train came under fire from the USAF some prisoners were killed that way. I remember we reached the relative safety of a tunnel where the train stopped for about 36 hours, jammed inside like pigs without any food, water or even a pot to do our business in.
As soon as the train exited it was spotted from the air and attacked.
One officer decided to take charge. He ordered us to get off the train and strip to the waist and form up into large letters spelling out P.O.W. with our bodies. When the fighter planes began to dive the men bent over so their naked backs, together, formed the shape of these letters. The sight of a load of half-naked blokes bent over and virtually waiting to be blown to kingdom come, thankfully, must have had the desired effect on the pilots, who pulled up without firing.
But the danger wasn’t over. The fighter planes continued to circle trying to determine whether this was an enemy trick or whether we really were POWs. I remember a couple of padres praying and I don’t mind telling you I gave a little prayer myself. We were ordered to stand our ground and hold the formation if the planes dived again and dive again they did.
The Thunderbolts came screaming down from on high. It was terrifying. Only one bloke cracked out of all of us and did a runner although all our instincts were to do the same. The guns started blazing. I thought we had had it then for sure.
We couldn’t understand how they hadn’t hit us. We heard them pulling up again. They must have been testing us and they had deliberately fired to miss. As they zoomed over our heads they dipped their wings in salute and disappeared. The Jerrys herded us back into the tunnel and the next day we were forced marched for two days until we reached Wentzler and Dutenhofen. There we stayed in the camp until at last, on the 28th March at 1pm the American 7th Armoured Division liberated us at Dutenhofen. After a short period being debriefed and checked medically, I was flown back to the UK, landing at Oakley in Hampshire on 3rd April. I returned home on leave on 4th April 1945. My Mum, God Bless her, had only been advised in late February that I was being held in German hands in an unspecified camp and had no idea I was back in Blighty.
Rob Hann and Trevor Harrold (c) Rob Hann
I carried on in the army after the war and was posted to the Parachute Regiment camp at Piddle Hinton in Dorset as Company Quarter Master Sergeant. I was eventually demobbed on 9th July 1946. Throughout this time I had kept in touch with my old SAS CO Major Rooney, whose family owned a brush making business, R.A.Rooney Limited in Walthamstow North London. They offered me a job in late 1946, initially as trainee works manager. I was made works manager in 1950 and worked for the Rooney family for the whole of my working life, right into my 70’s!
I will never forget the years I had in the army and the SAS. As a young lad you never really think about the dangers and you enjoy the good times and camaraderie with your mates. Looking back, despite all the hardships we went through as a POW, I think I was fortunate to survive. Many others, sadly, did not come home.
Sgt Trevor Harrold ex-3 Squadron 2 SAS November 2017
Author’s note: Trevor Harrold was interviewed recently as part of Monty Halls Channel 4 series WWII’s Great Escapes: The Freedom Trails. Thanks in part to Trevor and his stick’s brave resistance to interrogation, SAS Operation Galia was a complete success. A mere 33 men managed to tie up over 6,000 front line crack enemy troops – see my book SAS Operation Galia.
© Rob Hann November 2017