Pictures
|
Pictures
|
Lieutenant James Miller
Unit : No.13 Platoon, "C" Company, 5th (Scottish) Parachute Battalion
Army No. : 251842
Awards : Mentioned in Despatches
Second Lieutenant James Miller volunteered for the Airborne Forces in 1943, and after completing the selection process at Hardwick Hall attended Parachute Course No.56 at RAF Ringway, from the 17th to the 1st April 1943. This was a reinforcement course, consisting of five officers and seventy-six Other Ranks; Miller completed the course and his instructor noted; "A good leader, has done well throughout the course". He was posted to the 5th Parachute Battalion and served with them in North Africa, Italy, Southern France and Greece. In Italy, while the Battalion was based at Arielli, Miller was wounded on the 6th February 1944, most probably during a mortar bombardment of "C" Company's positions which resulted in six minor casualties. On the 15th August 1944, he was the first man to jump from aircraft chalk number 79, and landed in the Fayence area, some 10 miles to the North-West of DZ-O. The following is his account of Operation Dragoon:
'Twas the night of 14th August, 1944. Darkness had fallen over Campino Airfield. A buzz of excitement could be felt all around as last minute preparations for Operation Dragoon went ahead.
As Commander of 13 Platoon, 5th Bn Scottish, the Para Regiment, it was my duty to ensure a proper rest period for all my soldiers. We lay close to the 'planes which were to transport us to our Dropping Zone. Food was the next item on the programme. D Day was fast approaching, and soon we would be off. Suddenly I felt Nature calling ------- the nightmare was just beginning! I had not walked very far out into the darkness when ------- whoosh! bump! Where was I? Could I be dreaming? No such luck! I had fallen down a disused well. Fortunately for me, it had dried out and as far as I could gather, was now a dumping ground for rubbish.
I glanced at my luminous watch. Time was ticking by. I just had to get out of my predicament. But how? With outstretched arms and legs, I struggled to find a toe-hold and a finger-hold in the walls of the well, but after several frustrating attempts to climb out, all I ended up with were strained muscles, and although I was unaware of it at the time I had also badly damaged my right leg.
As a last resort I began to shout and shout and shout. Lady Luck must have been with me this time, for my cries of help were heard by my friend, Lt. Peter Conway (he had been on the same tack as myself!) Quickly he fetched a rope, but my ordeal was not quite over yet, for just as I was about to reach the top of the well, the rope broke and down I went again. Extra help was summoned, some airborne harness belts were lowered down, and soon I was back on 'terra firma'. The Battalion doctor, Dr Daley, was called, but I made light of my injuries - nothing was going to prevent me from fulfilling this mission - and he sanctioned my fitness to rejoin my soldiers who were, by this time, already emplaned. My batman, McLeod, was anxiously waiting for me. "Where have you been?" he said. "Down a well", I replied. I dare not comment on his next few words!
Soon we were airborne. After a while the customary tea was dispensed, and it was at this point that I realised the full extent of my injuries. My trouser leg was inflated like a balloon! Still, it could have been worse.
At last ---------- France! The red light flashed and I launched our containers. On came the green light, and one after the other, the 'stick' followed me out into the cold, early morning air. Down to earth I floated, wondering what kind of German resistance would be awaiting us.
All at once I came to rest ----- in a tree! Quickly I released my parachute then clambered down. Dawn was breaking. It was very quiet and still. Not a soldier was to be seen or heard. I concluded that most of my 'stick' must have landed on another slope. Slowly and painfully I made my way down the mountain-side, ever watchful for some sign of life. Then, in a clearing in the forest, I spotted a tiny cottage. I approached with caution and knocked gently on the door, but there was no answer. So I lifted the latch, and to my surprise, it swung open into a small, dark room, where in the corner, was a little, old woman, looking petrified - and no wonder! I tried to explain in my best school-boy French that I was a British soldier, and could she tell me how far I was from Le Muy. "Quarante-quatre kilometres", she replied. Surely she had misunderstood my French! I took out my map, placed it on the table, and pointed to Le Muy. And she repeated her answer. It was now obvious that I was very far off the appointed dropping zone; in fact, I was somewhere in Les Alpes Maritimes! I thanked her politely, bade her "Au revoir" and plodded on until eventually, I came to a village called Seillans. Here I had the good fortune to meet up with a number of parachutists from Brigade H.Q. who were more than happy to follow me to Le Muy, still some twenty odd miles away. In the group there was a doctor who noticed I was hobbling. He asked to see my leg, but because the swelling round the knee was so bad, he was obliged to slit my trouser leg with his scissors. On examination he pronounced that I must not walk any further, otherwise my leg could be damaged for all time.
I found a safe haven with a delightful local family, and I was treated with great kindness. Still fresh in my memory is the young boy of the house who showed such an interest in me. What pleased him more than anything else, was my chocolate ration! What bliss it was to lie down comfortably in their attic and sleep.
Sadly my luck did not hold. The following morning, an American officer entered the house with a warning for me to get out, as the Germans were surrounding the village. Where he came from, and how he knew I was in that particular house remains a mystery to this day.
I left by the rear of the house for safety. It was then that I caught up with the Maquis who helped me into their steam-driven truck and proceeded towards their make-shift hospital up in the mountains. Suddenly, out of the skies appeared a British 'plane, obviously about to fire on us. We were aware that anything mechanical would be strafed and so, for protection, we carried canisters of yellow smoke. As it billowed up into the air, it must have had the desire effect, for the plane in question seemed to dip its wings and disappear. Saved again!
Once inside the hospital, a doctor removed the offending fluid which had gathered round my knee. Things were beginning to look brighter, and so I decided to move on. My next stop was Fayence - to the convent where many wounded Maquis and British soldiers were receiving treatment. After some time, I was picked up by Lt. Brammal [No.8 Platoon, "B" Company, 5th Parachute Battalion] who had commandeered a truck at Le Muy, and was rounding up those paras who had missed their target. I was hospitalised, then evacuated by ship from Hyères to Naples. Altogether, it had been quite a traumatic experience!
After convalescing for a month, I was able to rejoin my Battalion to prepare for the next landing in Megara, Greece.
In 1992, while on holiday with my wife in St. Raphael, we met a young Romanian doctor, Dr Elena Demetrescu, who introduced us to her friend, Madame Angèle-Odette Matriòt from Fayence. With their help I was able to turn the clock back almost half a century, and re-live my Operation Dragoon experiences.
Footnote, by Major Donald L. Maclean, 5th Parachute Battalion, who was not involved with the drop. "I was on Campino Airfield when the incident of the well happened, and I can attest that it is a true story. We were all impressed with Jimmy's courage to embark on the operation, as if nothing had happened".
Lieutenant Miller was Mentioned in Despatches in 1945. He was discharged from the Army in 1947 and was granted the honourary rank of Major.
My thanks to Bob Hilton for this account.