Between The Lines - Ep 12

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**James Holland** (0:42)
Hello, and welcome to this edition of Between the Lines, the podcast that decipher the handwriting, unfolds faded pages and dips into the details of diaries, log books and letters written during this same week, there or thereabouts, in 1943, some 80 years ago. Let's start with a quick recap of the situation.
The Allies are focused intently on preparing for Operation Husky, the Sicilian campaign. This also means committing resources to plans that divert attention elsewhere. For example, to convince the Axis powers that, hopefully, Greece would be the target of a forthcoming amphibious landing. This week, a group of British SOE agents destroys a railway bridge over the Ossopos River. Elsewhere, in the Far East, American troops are landing in the Trobriand Islands, close to New Guinea, and part of Operation Chronicle. Once in place, there was no Japanese resistance. The US Army's engineers then supervise the construction of Kiriwina Airfield, which includes a 2,000-meter coral-surfaced runway, all of the time finding new ways to secure stepping stones for the Allies' supply lines.
Meanwhile, back in Europe, Hitler also has an impending campaign launch on his mind, the Battle of Kursk. But he's starting to see some fallout too from demoralized forces on several fronts. The Allies have had some success destroying yet more German submarines. And there's a considerable murmur of discontent as more than 200 German Navy crewmen stage a mutiny in Nazi-occupied Norway, simply refusing to sail. As you can imagine, the protest didn't go unpunished.
We'll start this week with news from a man who is happy to be at sea. That's Captain Bertie Packer. HMS Warspite has just had a refit and is sailing southwards. She's off to the Mediterranean.

**Bertie Packer** (2:46)
Monday the 21st of June and Tuesday the 22nd of June. At sea, Scapa to Jib. The sun came through and we made a fine showing. Four battleships, two aircraft carriers and 14 destroyers. Hard at it all the time. It is wonderful how quickly one attains cohesion with a number of stranger units. It is because the fundamental tactical training is sound and universal and is known to us all. Wednesday the 23rd of June. Through the straits to the rock. Last ship to enter but made the best time. 44 mines from passing the breakwater, turn and make fast alongside detached mole. Secured by 2230, then Rear Admiral Bissett, et cetera came aboard. The most inconvenient time. Baron Bissett has changed little. He is fat, paunchy and slow in his speech. He has a good head on his shoulders, mind, and we should make out all right. But I made it clear I want breakfast alone.
We are a fine target for German aircraft. Last time I was here two and a half years ago in the Manchester, it was aircraft from Vichy North Africa that worried us. A preferable change.
Thursday the 24th of June. In Gibraltar. Sent mum a telegraph to South Africa for her birthday. Although I don't know the date, I guess it will be acceptable. Friday the 25th of June.
Went ashore for a walk each day. Every street simply crowded with soldiers, sailors, airmen of all nationalities. Although it is the orange season, they cost five pence each. All the admirals and captains of Force H dined in the Nelson. The guest of honor was Mason McFarlane, the governor. The next night we dined at Government House with the governor. Enjoyed the latter, except for the pipers of the Royal Scots. Pipers are grand in the wide open spaces, but hell in a dining room. Sitting on my left was a group captain Simpson. On my right, a major, Quail, ADC to HE anyway. I knew him by sight and racked my brains.
Suddenly it struck me and I said to him, please don't think I'm mad, if I'm wrong. But were you Henry V? To my absolute relief, he laughed. Yes, he'd played Henry V in Athens in 1938 Damn good Henry he was too. He chatted about all the illustrious visitors who'd been in over the last two years. The German General von Arnim from Tunisia, before going off to a prisoner of war camp in England, for example.
To make conversation with the general, the ADC had pointed at his life jacket and said, we call it a Mae West.