Later in the war, the Nazis would go to extreme lengths to destroy all evidence of the Holocaust. The SS hunted down any photographs, whether from official records or taken privately. There were thousands of such images because, in the early years of the war, the Nazis were proud of their persecution of the Jews. Many images survived the efforts of the SS because they had already been widely published.

In May 1941, Ludwig Knobloch (1911-1943), a photographer with Wehrmacht Propagandakompanie 689, entered the Warsaw Ghetto. The ostensible aim was to show how the Jews lived in a state of destitution - the implication being that this was the fault of the Jews. The fact that the Germans were responsible for setting extreme limits on the foodstuffs allowed into the ghetto was never admitted.

This was a deliberate policy of starvation. The 180–184 calories per person per day often consisted only of a small amount of bread and a thin, watery soup. By comparison, the allocation was roughly a 699-calorie ration for non-Jewish Poles and over 2,600 calories for Germans in occupied Poland. Only Jews with private resources to access the Black Market could hope to survive. In time, a rigorous system of pooling resources was established by the Jewish authorities in the ghetto, which saved many lives in a prolonged typhoid outbreak1.

There are many written accounts of conditions inside the Ghetto’s of Poland, such as the following anonymous account2. But in May 1941, every picture told a story.:

Hunger grew increasingly severe. More and more patients complained to their doctors of swelling due to hunger, and more and more corpses lay on the ghetto streets. Pale, emaciated children with huge, horribly hungry eyes sobbed and moaned and asked for bread. Living skeletons covered in rags became an increasingly common sight.

There was scarcely a night when you didn’t hear the groans of people dying on the street. The typhus spread. Doctors made superhuman efforts to control the disease: daily rounds of assigned buildings, lectures maintaining hygiene, attempts to obtain soap rations and disinfectants, and long hard hours in the hospital. But the epidemic grew, owing to the conditions inside the ghetto.

Hundreds of dirty, starving Jews who had been declared unfit for work in the labor camps were relocated in Warsaw, and even more people were resettled from the provinces. Typhus decimated the population - in private homes, public shelters, children’s boardinghouses, and in the punkty.

The story of war is so often the story of ‘ordinary’ people in extraordinary circumstances. Recently published is the memoir of William Gillanders, which he did not write until 1996. These ‘ordinary experiences’ of a private soldier would see him celebrated as a hero were he alive today. But he obviously did not regard himself as exceptional, and we must be grateful that his daughter brought his private family manuscript to publication.

Frontline Medic & SOE Agent: The WW2 Memoir of William Gillanders MM is a tale full of twists and turns, a young man who volunteers for the Army in October 1939 after watching German planes bomb ships outside Edinburgh - the first air raid on Britain. He should have gone to France with the Highland Division, most of whom became prisoners. But a spell in hospital with bronchitis meant he missed the departure - and instead was ‘volunteered’ as a driver with a blood transfusion unit - and in turn learnt how to give transfusions himself. Eventually, he had to make his own lucky escape from France. As a member of the Royal Army Medical Corps in Egypt in 1942, he was asked to pack medical supplies for the Special Operations Executive - and he found himself volunteering for the mission himself. Once in Yugoslavia, working alongside the partisans, he was often the only person with medical expertise available.

The following episode comes from relatively late in the war, when Gillanders is supporting the partisans in occupied Yugoslavia. They became aware of the many Allied aircrew who had been shot down and were on the run, and a plan had to be devised to get them out:

Major Reed was rather uncertain as to how we would get the growing number of men out. To his relief, and our horror, a message came from Brigadier MacLean that Ian and I were to proceed to Tito’s HQ in Bosnia by foot and to ensure the safe passage of the airmen to the same destination. Ian and I were ill-equipped to walk that distance, possibly 200 miles or more, as the partisans had taught us you never walked in a straight line. Ian had a fleece-lined leather jacket, whilst I had a sailor’s duffel jacket. We had no waterproof gear or sleeping bags. I did have a balaclava and a woollen scarf about 8 feet long, and thick socks that had all been hand-knitted by my granny (these were the envy of everyone, especially my socks). I would put on my balaclava, then wrap the scarf round my neck and head and Ian would tie it behind my back. Lack of a waterproof jacket with a hood was a handicap, but having no gloves or mittens was worst of all. My fingers were sometimes raw with burst chilblains and frostbite.

We rounded up all the aircrew known to be in the area, at least 100, and it turned out that almost all were American, with just a few Allied airmen. (The British, or RAF, which included New Zealand, Australia, Canada etc. were very independent and wanted to make their own way home.) In our group was an American Air Force major who had been living in Venice with a kind Italian woman who found him after he had baled out of his aircraft. A lucky break for one of them. He apparently got fed up, probably couldn’t stand the place, and left during the night in case she reported him to the authorities. He made his way to Trieste, then into the Yugoslavian hills, where partisans picked him up. He took a big chance by wearing civilian clothes. If the Germans had discovered him, he would have been shot. The partisans were very suspicious of him and kept him away from the other airmen. We had to verify his credentials by radioing Italy, who had his story confirmed by the Americans.

We were finally ready to start. We had no food with us. Our only first-aid gear was in my satchel. We had four partisans as escorts, and couriers, and Ivo was our interpreter. Our escorts had ltalian-300 rifles and Ian and I had a sub- machine gun and a revolver each. By the time we had reached the top of the first hill, there were huge gaps in our lines and it was at least twenty minutes before we could all start together on the next leg. With Ivo and one escort I led out, while Ian and an escort came up in the rear. The other two escorts were in between. While this was a constant physical and mental challenge, the trek did have its funny moments. Ian would send up notes via a young courier, saying, ‘for God’s sake slow down, you’re not in the light infantry.’

By the end of the first day, 80 per cent of our charges had blisters and were moaning their heads off. It wasn’t their fault – they were fliers not walkers, and flying boots weren’t the best footwear for such a journey. This was worrying as I had heard from the partisans that the Germans had a flying-column out – commandos and Jaegers (mountain ski troops). We felt certain they knew about us, as only about 40 per cent of the peasants supported Tito, especially in Croatia. Sure, they all paid lip-service, and of course did the same when the Germans came into a village. Sometimes when walking in a small group, we had met peasants with donkeys, maybe just looking for firewood, who looked at us with abject fear, uncertain as to whether to give the clenched-fist partisan salute or give the fascist greeting, something like ‘God’s greeting to you,’ in Serbo-Croat. It was a matter of life and death to them probably every day and we understood their fear. As the Germans wore the same kind of berets we wore, that too must have confused the poor, innocent peasants.

The village where we would spend our first night was quite empty, so we had plenty of room to bed down our herd. We had no blankets but the rooms were warm because the big tiled stoves were going full blast. Ian produced some tea he had hidden away, so we boiled the billy. We had no sugar or milk but that tea gave me a lift I am sure cocaine or heroin could not have. If drugs had been available in Yugoslavia at that time, I am sure we would have been into them the same as the American soldiers were in Vietnam. I dressed all the blistered feet put in front of me, and finally fell asleep by the stove.

Ivo woke me early in the morning. He had a pot of polenta and said we should eat some of this and get the hell out of the place as he had discovered that the reason the village was empty was because of an outbreak of typhus. I hoped that my anti-typhus shots were working. The airmen took the news very well but the distance and speed we subsequently travelled amazed me; were these the men who could not walk the night before because of blisters. I told them not to worry, we would be quite safe as our lice were marque fives, while the ones in the village were only ones and twos.

The urgency didn’t last long and soon we were walking slowly again and stopping to wait for stragglers. It was snowing and getting dark when we finally reached Udbina, a small town which was almost completely demolished, with only a few houses remaining with canvas or tarpaulins for roofs. These were our billets for the night. We were lucky that a partisan unit was in occupation and gave us some stew and black bread and coffee. The tarpaulin roofs were sagging with snow and big fires were raging in the rooms below, so consequently water dripped on us all night. The next morning I was glad to leave and pitied the poor partisans who were left behind to fight. We learned later, that a month after our visit to that devastated village, a doctor who had befriended us at the medical conference was killed in Udbina, along with a number of wounded, when a German ski patrol surprised them at night.

We struggled on from village to village. Eventually, we had to cross a railway and a main road. This was accomplished by waiting for the German patrols to pass, then stealing through a village without arousing too many dogs, crossing the road at the greatest speed possible, and taking off up into the mountains. It was hard going as we had only had one short rest and there was no food, we were told, until we reached a partisan camp. We climbed and climbed and crossed a pass and eventually came upon a few wooden huts. Installed here was a partisan attack group. We were allotted so many to a hut, and it was a bit of a squeeze, with thirty-five to forty for each. I looked for a space to lie down as far away from the fire as possible as the atmosphere was stifling.

I felt a tug at my leg and when I looked down, there was a partizanka propped up on her elbow pointing at a space next to her. I found my other neighbour was also a partizanka. I just lay down exhausted while they cuddled into me, and I fell into deep sleep – no thought of any funny stuff. When you are wet, hungry and exhausted, sex is the last thing you think of. In the morning when I was having a wash, I saw a patrol move out. It included the two partizankas – one carrying a machine gun, the other had belts of ammunition draped round her neck and shoulders. They smiled and waved and walked away to God knows what.

The partisan OC asked us if we would like to see where we would be once it was dark. The Americans and the others were either sleeping or resting. We made our way along a hillside and after maybe a mile we stopped on the brow of the hill and peeped over. You had to be careful using binoculars because if the sun glinted on them, you could be a dead duck. The partisan pointed below and there, about three quarters of a mile away on a road, was a line of German trucks with two or three officers or NCOs waving and gesticulating. The partisan officer said he hoped they would move soon as the partisans we had seen leave earlier had mined the road on the bend going up the hill. Our officer said, ‘We should move. If they see us, we’ll get a breakfast of grenades’ (likely 88mm shells, in this case). We didn’t need any coaxing, and made our way back. We couldn’t move until dark and I hoped the German convoy hadn’t struck a mine as there would be a real hornets’ nest below if it had been attacked by the partisans.

When our group left it was snowing and we trudged along the path. This time I was much happier, as we had a strong, well-armed escort with us. This unit must have been an elite partisan group. They were well disciplined, alert and had high spirits and a good attitude. We crossed the road easily enough but there was also an autobahn ahead, hence the escort. This road had a beautiful surface and was wide and dead straight. The Germans had armoured patrols running up and down the road all night, so a good escort was essential. And we made it. Once over the road it was hard climbing again until we reached one lone hut. Not a hope of sleeping but we did get a cup of hot ersatz coffee and some black bread. This was typical of our daily treks. Some of the airmen were by now very sick and weak and we realised that unless we reached Tito’s HQ soon, some would not make it.

I still remember one young fellow – his name was Anderson. He was a 21-year-old tail-gunner. The aircraft he was flying in was hit by anti-aircraft fire and went out of control. The last thing he heard was the command to bale out. He had opened the door of his turret to reach his parachute, which hung on a hook just outside the door. When he put his hand round to grab it, there was absolutely nothing there – the entire main part of the aircraft had gone. The flak had shot the tail and he realised that the tail had just broken away. He believed the rest of the crew would have died, as without its tail the aircraft would go into an uncontrollable spin. He told me he just sat down in his seat and yelled. The tail did not spin, but sailed down, landing in the tops of some tall trees, then slowly sliding down to the ground. He stepped out, unharmed physically but mentally a mess. Sometimes he didn’t know who he was. He ranted and raved at night and some of the Americans took care of him. He now had diarrhoea, as had 90 per cent of us, and was very weak.

© Lindsay Gillanders 2025, ‘Frontline Medic & SOE Agent: The WW2 Memoir of William Gillanders MM’. Reproduced courtesy of Pen & Sword Publishers Ltd.

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It might be thought that Britain could not cope with another outbreak of hostilities, having just evacuated Greece and facing German aggression in Libya. But a new regime in Iraq, sympathetic to Hitler, thought otherwise.

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On 30th April 1941, Hitler met with his military High Command and finalised a date for the surprise invasion of Soviet Russia. The invasion of Yugoslavia and Greece had pushed the expected target date back from 15th May, first set when Hitler had issued his Directive No. 21 in December 1940.

Franz Halder, the Chief of Staff of the Army High Command (OKH), noted in his diary1 that there was little flexibility in the movement plans for the different ‘transport echelons’ that had to be moved into Poland and eastern Germany. Most relied on the railways for at least part of their journey east. So just as in the First World War, the German railway capacity had significant consequences for the unfolding sequence of events.

Of the thirty divisions needed for the GHQ Reserve, eleven were currently in the Balkans, and five were in the west. It was noted that the 10cm siege guns being sent to Libya for the siege of Tobruk would be ‘badly missed’.

A cover story had to be developed for the movement of three million troops, to be boosted by a further 800, 000 from Finland, Hungary and Romania. These Axis countries had not yet been told that their participation in the largest invasion in history was planned:

Fuehrer:

a. Formula for talks with Hungary, Finland, and Romania: “Major developments possible in the west. Hence, protection of the east essential. Russia has treated us unfriendly on several occasions, and we had better provide against surprises. “ Talks may start probably around 23 May.

b. Need for safeguarding Ploesti, Cernavodă. [The oil refinery and a transport hub in Romania]

c. Von Schobert [General to be transferred from west to east to take over 11th Army] will take over command six weeks before the start of operations, i.e., on 15 May at the latest.

Meanwhile, Hitler was unaware of the false documents produced on his behalf in Britain, or that 30th April was to be another significant date for him in just four years.

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The entire Nazi economic model rested on territorial conquest and exploitation1. Hitler’s ‘economic miracle’ in pre-war Germany had been a pretence supported by statistical manipulation, lies and propaganda. Had…

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During April 1941, the Luftwaffe conducted some of the most damaging bombing raids of the entire war. Belfast, London, Coventry, Plymouth, Birmingham, Bristol, and Barrow in Furness all suffered more than one raid and severe damage during the month. Everyone in every city in the country had to be prepared to take to the shelters at a moment’s notice. In London, many people simply spent every night in a shelter or down in the Underground. No one could be confident that they would survive the night, and many did not.

In the midst of this, Churchill remained as popular as ever. People flocked to see him as he toured bomb damaged cities up and down the country. He had come to personify British defiance through his rhetoric. So when he broadcast to the nation on 27th April, everybody was listening.

There was not much good news he could give. Britain struggled to find an answer to the night raiders - an answer never found during the whole war. Abroad, the debacle in Greece could fairly be considered the direct consequence of Churchill’s own overconfidence and disregard of military realities. Those with an insight into the strategic direction of the war were far from uncritical, not least Robert Menzies, the Australian Minister, who had questioned the wisdom of the Greek adventure and had been proved right.

In this daunting set of circumstances, Churchill1 still managed to rise to the occasion and find the words that gave people confidence and hope for the future:

It is quite true that I have seen many painful scenes of havoc, and of fine buildings and acres of cottage homes blasted into rubble-heaps of ruin. But it is just in those very places where the malice of the savage enemy has done its worst, and where the ordeal of the men, women and children has been most severe, that I found their morale most high and splendid.

Indeed, I felt encompassed by an exaltation of spirit in the people which seemed to lift mankind and its troubles above the level of material facts into that joyous serenity we think belongs to a better world than this. Of their kindness to me I cannot speak, because I have never sought it or dreamed of it, and can never deserve it.

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The Corinth Canal lies between the Greek mainland and its southernmost peninsula. It occupied a strategically important location for Axis ships headed for Athens. In April 1941, it also blocked the German invasion forces chasing after Allied forces in Greece, and they launched an airborne raid to capture the only bridge over the Canal intact.

Platon Alexiades only discovered how significant the Corinth Canal was during the war when he was researching Allied submarine operations in the National Archives. He uncovered high-level declassified signals relating to a series of operations to block the canal, using both conventional forces and covert attempts by the Special Operations Executive.

The product of his research was Target Corinth Canal 1940-44, first published in 2015, which comprehensively details these attempts, conducted with assistance from the Greek Resistance. This is a tale of clandestine submarine landings, intercepted radio messages and probable betrayal, leading ultimately to arrest, torture and execution. It's the story of some very brave, determined men in a little-documented corner of the war.

The dramatic events of the 26th April, when the Fallschirmjäger, landing by glider and parachute, sought to seize the bridge over the canal, is just one episode in this long story.

On 22 April 1941, General Franz Halder, Chief of Staff of the German Army, recorded in his diary the discussion of a preventive airborne operation on the canal with General von Brauchitsch, Commander-in-Chief, German Army. The order would come directly from Hitler. This raised the fear that the Führer, whose mood was often erratic, might miss the critical moment.

Three days later, the order was finally issued for the operation to take place the following day. The task had been assigned to the 2nd Fallschirmjager Regiment from the 7th Fallschirmjager Division which was assembled near Plovdiv in Bulgaria. Already German airborne troops were being transferred to the aerodrome of Larissa, some 120 miles (200 kilometres) north of the canal.

ULTRA had revealed the content of the relevant messages and, in the late afternoon of 25 April, the First Sea Lord, Admiral of the Fleet Dudley Pound, sent the following signal to Admiral Cunningham:

INFORMATION RECEIVED SHOWS GERMANS WISH TO AVOID DAMAGING CORINTH CANAL. REPORTS ALSO INDICATE THAT IT MAY BE THE INTENTION TO SEIZE CANAL BY USE OF PARACHUTISTS TO ENSURE ITS SECURITY (A.l). IMMEDIATE ACTION SHOULD THEREFORE BE TAKEN BLOCK CANAL BY EXPLOSIVES FOLLOWED BY BLOCKSHIPS AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

In the early hours of 26 April, in a foretaste of the Crete operation, some 800 German paratroopers, two battalions of the 2nd Regiment, known as Detachement Sussmann (from the name of its commander, Generalleutnant Wilhelm Sussmann), and other elements under the direct orders of Oberst (Colonel) Alfred Sturm, were dropped on both sides of the Corinth Canal (Operation HANNIBAL).

Following the devastating air raid on Piraeus, the Greeks had dispatched the T.40/39 anti-aircraft unit under engineer D. Nikolaoy (RHN) to protect the Corinth Canal. It consisted of three 88mm Krupp guns, two 37mm and two 20mm guns, but they were old and the morale of the gun crews was low; some of the men had already deserted. By the time of the air assault, Nikolaoy had only four men left but they were now reinforced by a British force, although the Greeks had little contact with them and only heard rumours that the bridge across the canal was to be destroyed.

This was the Isthmus Force which had been hastily created and put under Major R. K. Gordon of the New Zealand 19th (Wellington) Battalion. Most of the force had arrived only the previous day. It included 16 Heavy Anti-Aircraft and 122 Light Anti-Aircraft Batteries, the New Zealand Wellington West Coast Company of 19th Battalion, a squadron of 4th Hussars and part of an Australian brigade, which was to be relieved by a New Zealand brigade. They now came under fire first by nine Messerschmitt BfllO fighters and these were followed by many more fighters of the Messerschmitt BfllO and Messerschmitt Bfl09 types, which continuously strafed the British positions while Junker 87 Stuka dive-bombers dropped a number of bombs. It was estimated that eighty to one hundred fighters and twenty to thirty dive-bombers had taken part in the softening of the defensive positions.

One of the lessons learned was that it was necessary for defensive troops not to reveal themselves until the actual parachute drop occurred. There were no RAF fighters to interfere with the German effort and this was to prove decisive. The main opposition came from four 3.7-inch guns of 16 Heavy Anti-Aircraft Battery, situated some 1,500 yards south of the bridge over the canal. It was somewhat too far to defend it effectively and the buzzing Stukas diving and flying very low proved too fast for the guns to be trained on them. The anti-aircraft positions closer to the bridge were silenced one by one by the German bombers.

About half an hour later, six DFS-320 gliders carrying fifty-four men of the German 6./Fallschirmjäger Regiment 2 landed near the bridge. Three gliders landed on the north side and three on the south side, no farther than 600 feet from their objective and the nearest only a few yards from it. One glider was struck by a direct hit and fell heavily on the ground. The two platoons were under Leutnant Hans Teusen and Leutnant Haffner, the latter leading a team of engineers purposely sent to disarm explosives which the British might have installed.

They quickly overwhelmed the British defences in the immediate vicinity. Shortly after, some 300 Junkers 52 troop carriers appeared and flying very slowly at an altitude of only 300 feet (90 metres) began disgorging paratroopers. Several were killed as their parachutes failed to open in time or were drowned in the canal. The Germans soon occupied the high grounds to the south of the canal; a few units were also dropped on the north side. This was a textbook attack, eliciting admiration from Imperial troops on the receiving end.

To Fred Woollams, who belonged to B Company of the 19th Battalion, the attack appeared surrealistic and brought to mind something from Things to Come by H. G. Wells. Major Gordon had established his headquarters at a small fir-covered hill some 800 yards northeast of the bridge with 11 and 12 Platoons of Wellington West Coast Company. After a sharp fight that earned it the name of ‘Blood Hili’ , the position had to be abandoned and the wounded left behind.

Woollams was himself hit in the leg but managed to limp away with a small group of soldiers. Like many of his fellow soldiers, he would be unable to reach an evacuation point in time. After being hidden by friendly Greek families for several months, he would eventually be captured as he tried to reach Athens on foot.

On the other side of the canal, the Australians were quickly overwhelmed and the tanks of 4th Hussars were obliged to withdraw.

The suddenness of the German attack had prevented Lieutenant Tyson from destroying the bridge with the explosives he had planted the previous day. One of the German gliders had landed very close to the fuse and it was now impossible to get close to it. Tyson had shared a foxhole with Captain J. F. Philipps of the Devonshire Regiment and they managed to slip away to a safe distance. Tyson suggested that since gelignite had been used a rifle shot might be enough to set it off.

Philipps climbed up a bank and took a shot but missed. He came immediately under fire and had to crawl to a new firing position from where his second shot is credited with hitting the charges; the bridge blew up and collapsed, killing a dozen Germans. Leutnant Teusen, who had landed on the south side of the canal, had seen his engineers remove the explosives from the steel structure and pile them on the bridge. The photographer from the Propaganda Company, Ernst von der Heyden, had just joined them to take pictures for posterity when the explosion occurred. Aerial photographs timed it at exactly 0701 hours.

To his horror, Teusen watched helplessly as the bridge fell in the canal, killing von der Heyden and several of his men. The Germans would later believe that the explosion was caused by a lucky British anti-tank shell. The collapsed bridge would become the most serious obstacle to navigation in the canal.

The cost had been heavy: seventy-nine paratroopers were killed or missing and 174 wounded, but the German sappers quickly built a temporary bridge. The capture of the bridge cut the retreat of British troops caught on the wrong side of the canal and many would have to surrender to the Germans. The paratroopers linked up with German Waffen SS reconnaissance units led by the hard-driving SS-Sturmbannführer Kurt Meyer.

The following day, German troops entered Athens. The temporary bridge allowed the 5th Panzer Division and SS Leibstandarte Adolf Hitler Division to cross into the Peloponnese and rush south. Their quick intervention would lead to the capture of 8,000 Imperial troops stranded at Kalamata as their reembarkation could not be organised in time.

© Platon Alexiades 2015, ‘ Target Corinth Canal 1940-44’. Reproduced courtesy of Pen & Sword Publishers Ltd. NB Not all of the above images are from this volume.

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Life in the Warsaw Ghetto was marked by unimaginable hardship, suffering, and random acts of violence. Established by the Nazi regime in 1940, the ghetto confined over 400,000 Jewish men, women, and children into a space of just 1.3 square miles, forcing them to l…

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As overwhelming German forces approach the Greek capital, the Allies begin to evacuate, cheered on their way by the local population who faced a grim future. The order is given for the last twelve Hurricanes in Greece to patrol over Athens in formation as a ‘morale boosting gesture’. No. 80 Squadron was led by recently promoted Squadron Leader Marmaduke ‘Pat’ Pattle, already a legendary pilot, having scored many victories over the Italians in North Africa.

For a young and inexperienced RAF fighter pilot, the exercise in flying wingtip-to-wingtip was in itself a nerve-wracking affair. Roald Dahl1 had only resumed flying duties and rejoined his Squadron earlier in the month, following a serious crash which had left him with a broken skull and temporarily blind. He had only seven hours of flying experience in the Hurricane. His first aerial combat had been on 15th April, when he shot down a Ju 88.

On that morning of 20 April, Flight-Lieutenant Pattie, the ace of aces, who was leading our formation of twelve Hurricanes over Athens, was evidently assuming that we could all fly as brilliantly as he could, and he led us one hell of a dance around the skies above the city. We were flying at about 9,000 feet and we were doing our very best to show the people of Athens how powerful and noisy and brave we were, when suddenly the whole sky around us seemed to explode with German fighters. They came down on us from high above, not only 109s but also the twin-engined 110s. Watchers on the ground say that there cannot have been fewer than 200 of them around us that morning.

It was not until 1986 that Dahl published his account of the ‘Battle of Athens’:

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In October 1940, Mussolini decided to surprise Hitler by embarking on his own military adventures; predominantly rural Greece was surely a pushover for the relatively modern Italy. It was Mussolini who was surprised by the strength and purpose of the Greek resistance. In the deep snows of the high mountains of northern Greece, the poorly equipped but fervently patriotic Greek Army trounced the Italians and pushed them back into Albania. But everything changed when Hitler intervened.

John Carr’s comprehensive account of the war, The Defence and Fall of Greece 1940-1941, tells the story from the Greek perspective. First published in 2013 and reprinted several times since, this history uses many Greek sources that had not previously been translated into English. He incorporates eyewitness accounts from front-line soldiers as well as the diaries and memoirs of generals and politicians.

The following excerpt takes up the story in the last few tragic days of the war, when the Greek government had to face up to the reality that the Greek armed forces, even supported by the British, were impotent to resist the overwhelming strength of the Wehrmacht, and that the Nazis were about to envelop their country.

There were many personal tragedies, not least the unfortunate Alexandros Koryzis, who had felt obliged to accept the role of Prime Minister only when the King asked him, upon the untimely death of his predecessor at the end of January:

Koryzis was deathly tired. He confessed to King George that, as the Germans had now invaded and would in all likelihood occupy Athens, he had failed as prime minister; all he wanted to do was to resign. The king admonished him stiffly that this was no time for a prime minister to lose his nerve and leave the country without a government; indeed, he should consider himself a front-line soldier and keep fighting to the end. But Koryzis was adamant. He was neither a politician nor a soldier, but an ex-banker. He wanted out. Others could carry on the struggle in his place. But neither would the king budge. He ordered the hapless prime minister to stay in his post. At that, Koryzis stooped to kiss the king’s hand and said he had to go home ‘for some business’ .

Eyewitnesses saw Koryzis emerge ashen-faced, and without a word, pick up his hat and coat and exit the hotel almost at a run. Prince Peter encountered him at the front door. I managed to get a glimpse [the prince wrote], through the glass door, of his face, haggard with anguish. I thought of how weary he must be with all the responsibilities loaded on him at these critical moments. Koryzis got into his car and was driven home.

The king emerged and buttonholed his brother and heir, Crown Prince Paul, and told him that something in Koryzis’ attitude worried him and he wanted to make sure his prime minister was all right. Paul drove to Koryzis’ house, to be met by the prime minister’s distraught wife. Her husband had come home ‘very sad’ , she said, and had locked himself in the bathroom. At that moment a pistol shot sounded from inside. Prince Paul burst in to find Koryzis dead, with a bullet in his head, lying in a widening pool of blood. It was the afternoon of Good Friday, the saddest day in the Greek Orthodox calendar.

Koryzis’ suicide climaxed the intense depression that seized the entire country. Morale in the RHN [Royal Hellenic Navy] was now crumbling, along with that in the army. With the King George knocked out, Rear Admiral Mezeviris transferred his flag to the Queen Olga, but he hardly had time to settle in when a mutiny on the destroyer Aetos occupied his attention. Lieutenant Commander Ioannis Toumbas, who has masterminded the scuttling of the shore batteries at Thessaloniki, was sent to the Aetos to restore order after the captain and two senior officers had walked off. Addressing the surly crew from the bow, Toumbas said he didn’t want to have to arrest anyone at this critical stage, so ‘any member of the crew who doesn’t realize his duty should leave this ship now. Those who stay will continue the fight out of the country’ . All but three of the Aetos’ petty officers and half the ratings promptly left the ship.

Some of the mutineers had sabotaged some of the anti-aircraft guns (though not irreparably). Among them was the ship’s purser, who was stopped at the gangplank and found to be carrying a case full of the ship’s money; the man was court-martialled and shot. The ugliness also spread to the crews of the Spetsai, but it was nipped in the bud with harsh measures.

Such negativity, fortunately, was the exception rather than the rule. When the air raid sirens sounded on Easter Day, 20 April, the Psara was at anchor off Megara. The crew had gathered on the deck for the Easter service and looked skywards anxiously, but nothing appeared. At 2.45 pm, just after lunchtime, Commander Konstas was ordered to join a convoy that had been put together to escort the Averof to safety at Alexandria. At 6.15 pm, about four hours before the destroyer was due to sail, fifteen Ju87s screamed down on it out of the sunset. As the Psara’s anti-aircraft guns blasted away at full strength, bombs fell on the Queen Olga and Panthir alongside.

Two bombs smacked into the foredeck of the Psara, almost severing the bow from the main structure, and knocking out the forward gun control. The Stukas strafed the decks, blasting any crewmembers there literally to bits. ‘Heads and body parts were all over’ , wrote Konstas, trying to describe the hell. The Psara’s bow began to sink, though Konstas had the satisfaction of seeing his remaining guns blast at least two Stukas out of the sky.

The Luftwaffe attacks ceased half an hour later. Konstas had the shattered ship towed to Megara, but it was too far gone for repair. The bow was under water and the engine room was flooding. Reluctantly he gave the order for the brave little Psara - the first RHN vessel to fire a naval shot in anger by shelling Italian positions in Epiros - to be abandoned. Documents and portable weapons were removed, as well as the ship’s emblem with the motto, ‘Freedom or Death’ . The Greek ensign was left flying on the mainmast.

Konstas described his own experience during his ship’s last moments,

as darkness was falling: I go down to my quarters, which are dark and full of water. I light a match to see my way. The door to my bedroom is jammed, so it can’t open. I pick up the photograph of my children, say an emotional farewell to my cabin and go back up on deck ... It is time to abandon our beloved ship. We draw away in boats. Now nothing is visible of the ship but the flag fluttering on the mast. It’s twenty past seven. The sea is about to cover the mast. We doff our hats and cry, ‘Long live the Psara? with tears in our eyes. At the same time we hear the boilers explode, the sea churns and the hulk of the Psara vanishes from our sight... We leave the place in deep sadness, yet proud, because the Psara up to the last moment performed her service to the Country.

When the Psara died, forty of her crew died with her. Fifty-seven others were wounded, two lost their wits in the horror, and two were missing. It was an Easter the survivors would never forget.

Two days after that, the destroyer Hydra was ordered to accompany the submarine Papanikolis to Alexandria, along with a Danish freighter carrying munitions. The skies seethed with Luftwaffe reconnaissance aircraft. Between Aigina and the mainland a large formation of dive-bombers approached from the north. Half of the formation - about three dozen planes - peeled off and dived on the Hydra. Mezeviris, on the bridge, ordered a high-speed zigzag course and readied the anti-aircraft guns. The Stukas’ attack was identical to that on the Psara - near-vertical dive bombing followed by a devastating strafing of the decks. One bullet caught the ship’s commanding officer, Commander Theodoros Pezopoulos, hatless as he was hastening up from his quarters, killing him instantly. Mezeviris saw him ‘slip and sit down on the deck, his back supported by the rail, with his eyes closed and a slight smile on his face, showing the calm of having done his duty till the last’ .

Bombs burst around the Hydra, immobilising the engines and putting out of action all but a few light machine guns below the bridge. The ship had not actually been hit, but many near misses had cracked the hull and water was pouring in. The decks were strewn with dead and wounded. When the destroyer was visibly fatally crippled, the Ju87s broke off the attack. Rear Admiral Mezeviris, himself bleeding from a flesh wound, stumbled over the foredeck awash with blood, ‘stepping over dismembered bodies’ and ordering whoever he met to abandon ship.

Only one lifeboat was left, and the most seriously wounded were placed in it. The rest of the survivors had to swim a few hundred yards to an islet called Lagosa (one of the advantages of Greek seas is that a ship is never far from some island or speck of rock in an emergency). A few minutes after the last man got off, the Hydra dipped its prow suddenly, its stern rearing up, and went down vertically, carrying Commander Pezopoulos and its dead with it.

An exhausted Mezeviris lay down on the rock of Lagosa for an hour or so. Wounded and soaked men were everywhere. One medic, himself lacking part of a leg, crawled up to the admiral. ‘How are you feeling, sir?’ the medic said, oblivious of his own life-threatening condition. The men ‘cried like children’ when they learned that Pezopoulos, a well-liked commander, was dead. As the entire scene had been visible from Piraeus, a host of rescue craft sped to Lagosa. The Papanikolis, which had waited in vain for its escort to show up, proceeded unprotected to Souda Bay in Crete. That same evening, Mezeviris ordered the Queen Olga, Lerax, and Panthir to leave for Crete ahead of schedule. They only just made it.

© John Carr 2013, ‘The Defence and Fall of Greece 1940-1941’. Reproduced courtesy of Pen & Sword Publishers Ltd.

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