Orders, Decorations and Medals

‘He was handsome, fair-haired, with piercing blue eyes and Nelsonian nose. He walked as if he were permanently on the deck of a ship. He was a daredevil, and his main aim appeared to be to force his way into the German area of the camp and then hack his way out with a metaphorical cutlass.’



Major P. R. “Pat” Reid, M.B.E., M.C., on his fellow escaper “Billie” Stephens in The Colditz Story.

‘By midday we had spread the search net to the 20-mile limit with the word Hasenjagd. That means “Hare Hunt”, but it was often taken to indicate “Wild Goose Chase” ... How could anyone get past the sentry who was parading back and forth in the middle of the German yard? How could any prisoner get out of the windows on the prisoners’ side of that yard in the full glare of the searchlights without the sentry seeing him?’

Reinhold Eggers, German Security Officer, Colditz.



“One hundred percent luck isn’t good enough. You have to have the devil’s luck as well.”

Lieutenant-Commander W. L. “Billie” Stephens, D.S.C., R.N.V.R.



The unique and important Second World War St. Nazaire raid and Colditz “home-run” D.S.C. and Bar group of seven awarded to Commander W. L. “Billie” Stephens, Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve: having commanded the M.Ls employed in Operation “Chariot”, and been taken prisoner after his own launch was set on fire and abandoned under point-blank fire - but not before raising his hip-flask atop the burning wreckage for a final “quick one” prior to entering the icy water - he made a successful bid for freedom with “Pat” Reid and two others from from Colditz Castle in October 1942, a breakout enacted under the cover of the P.O.W’s orchestra conducted by Douglas Bader and culminating with the four men squeezing naked through a narrow vent ‘like toothpaste out of a tube!’

Distinguished Service Cross, G.VI.R., with Second Award Bar, the reverse of the Cross officially dated ‘1942’, and the Bar ‘1943’, hallmarks for London ‘1942’, in its Garrard & Co. case of issue; 1939-45 Star; Atlantic Star; Defence and War Medals 1939-45; Royal Naval Volunteer Officer’s Decoration, G.VI.R., undated, in its Royal Mint case of issue; France, Third Republic, Medal of Gratitude, 2nd Class, silver, together with a set of related dress miniature medals, a “France Libre” lapel badge, gilt and enamel, the reverse numbered ‘6259’, the recipient’s gold (9 ct.) cigarette case, by W.N. Ltd., Birmingham hallmarks for 1929, with the raised initials ‘B.S.’ in upper left corner, and original documents including unique Identity Passes forged at Colditz, extremely fine (Lot) £40000-50000

D.S.C. London Gazette 21 May 1942:

‘For great gallantry, daring and skill in the attack on the German naval base at St. Nazaire.’

The original recommendation - submitted by Commander R. E. D. Ryder, V.C., R.N. - states:

‘Lieutenant-Commander Stephens was Senior Officer of the M.Ls taking part in the raid on St. Nazaire and took a leading part in the training, organisation and administration of the 16 M.Ls under him. Although his own craft was sunk before actually reaching his landing place, I consider that by his example and good leadership he set a very high standard for those craft that passed him as a blazing wreck, most gallantly pressing forward the attack.’

Bar to D.S.C. London Gazette 16 March 1943 - as per the recipient’s M.I. 9 debrief.

William Lawson Stephens was born in Holywood, Northern Ireland in August 1911, the scion of a prominent Ulster family, and was educated at Shrewsbury before joining the family firm of shippers and timber merchants. Also a pre-war member of the “Wavy Navy”, in which he was appointed a Midshipman in April 1930, at H.M.S. Caroline, the Belfast base, he had risen to the rank of Lieutenant by the renewal of hostilities in September 1939, when he was posted to Hornet, the Coastal Forces base at Gosport.

St. Nazaire

By the time Combined Operations started to plan its daring raid against the Normandie dry-dock at St. Nazaire, Stephens had transferred to St. Christopher, the Coastal Forces base at Fort William, and it was from here, in early 1942, in the acting rank of Lieutenant-Commander, that he was ordered south to take up appointment as C.O. of M.Ls for the forthcoming enterprise, code named Operation “Chariot”.

On the night in question - 27-28 March 1942 - he was embarked with his crew of 17 men in Motor Launch 192, together with Captain M. C. “Micky” Burn, K.R.R.C., and 14 men of No. 6 Troop, No. 2 Commando. Stephens takes up the story in his unpublished memoir:

‘Then I remember the first shot the enemy fired at us. I think it was a 40mm. In any case it was a tracer, a beautiful bright red colour and as it sailed towards us I couldn’t imagine that if it hit us it was going to harm us. It looked just like the rockets we used to fire on Guy Fawkes’ night in the days before the War. Very shortly afterwards I was disillusioned. Then I remember too, when we were much further up the river and the enemy had already started to fire intermittently at us, still being uncertain whether we were friend or foe, how suddenly we saw a Morse lamp flickering from the M.G.B. ahead of us with Commander Ryder on board. He was sending a message to the shore in German trying to bluff the enemy into thinking that one of their own convoys was approaching. We waited in breathless suspense for the result, the enemy had in the meantime stopped firing at us and most of the searchlights had been extinguished. Every second now was vital to us, we were only about one and a half miles from our objective, or four and a half minutes, if we maintained speed. Then, suddenly, we got our answer: all at once the searchlights came on again and the guns commenced to fire in real earnest. We opened fire too and the ensuing display was quite unbelievable - no fireworks have I ever seen equalled it.

My boat, which was Number 1 of the M.Ls was meanwhile keeping its station on the starboard quarter of the destroyer Campbeltown, and things were getting pretty hot. Campbeltown was hit again and again and anything which missed her astern was passing mighty close to us! No praise can be too high for our gunners; I don’t mean particularly those in my boat, but all our gunners. They were magnificent and continued to fire quickly and with accuracy, and when one was killed or wounded, another stepped in, took his place and continued.

All went well until we were almost abeam of the Old Mole and within 200 yards of our objective. We had been bit a number of times, but were still quite seaworthy, and whilst we had some wounded, they were none of them serious. Then our luck ran out and they got us twice at point-blank range with something very large, probably about 4-inch. The results were sudden and disastrous: both engines and the steering went and the boat was swung hard-a-port by the impact of the shells hitting her. By chance, however, we managed to come more or less alongside the Old Mole allowing a few of the Commandos to climb up the wall and get ashore. My signalman also managed to get ashore, the idea being that we should put a line across to him and make fast. Unfortunately he was killed before he could do this and the boat, having hit the wall of the Mole very hard, immediately rebounded some 15 feet and we were left with neither engines nor steering and all the while being subjected to point-blank fire from a 20mm. gun ashore. The damage was frightful, there was virtually no engine room left and some incendiaries must have hit our tanks, because we were blazing fiercely in the petrol compartment.

It was then decided that as there was no possibility of saving the boat, the best course to adopt was to abandon ship and get ashore in order to join up with our forces who should by this time have landed a little further up river. We got everyone into the water all right, including our wounded, but owing to the number of soldiers we still had on board, there wasn’t room for everyone on the Carley Floats and consequently some of us had to swim ashore. I shall always remember those last moments on board. There was practically no firing at us by this time, it being too obvious to the enemy that we had already “had it”, and they were concentrating on other targets. I stood right up in the bows and whilst getting out my flask to have a last “quick one” I looked around me. The scene was indescribable. We were burning furiously as were two other boats astern of us a little further out in the river. It was a very sad sight. Tracer was still flying in all directions and the whole scene was brilliantly illuminated by searchlights. After a very long pull at my flask (little did I realise when I should next taste whisky), I slid over the bows on a line and into the water and my God! It was cold! I started to swim at first quite slowly and casually because it was only 60 or 70 yards ashore, then harder as I suddenly realised the current was carrying me fast down stream and away from any possible landing place. I kicked off my flying boots - something I was to regret bitterly later - and swam as I’ve never swam before. I had to fight to stop myself panicking. Slowly I began to make headway, time seemed interminable, but I suppose I had only been in the water seven or eight minutes when I reached a small slipway and, having arrived at it, I just lay there half in and half out of the water and quite exhausted. At that moment I didn’t really care much what happened to me; however, someone, I think my First Lieutenant, pulled me clear and after a minute or two I became more or less normal. We found that only one of our party had not made the shore. Really remarkable considering how strong the current was just there.

The next thing to do was to get along the docks and so join up with our own forces. If we had known a bit more about evasion in those days we might have managed it, but as we tried it - almost marching in three’s and with not even a revolver amongst us - it was quite hopeless and sure enough we were spotted by a platoon after we had gone about 20 yards. We all ran and tried to hide behind some huge rolls of wire netting on the quay. After that it was just a question of minutes until we were rounded up and made to understand that we must hold our hands up; and so at 2.30 a.m. on 28 March 1942, I became a prisoner of war.’

Stephens was awarded one of 17 D.S.Cs for the raid, while his Telegraphist, G. C. Davidson, received the D.S.M., and his Chief Motor Mechanic, G. S. Snowball, and Ordinary Seaman G. H. Hallett, posthumous M.I.Ds. At least two other ratings from 192 were killed, namely Ordinary Seamen A. E. Hale and H. W. Little, these in addition to several of Captain “Micky” Burn’s No. 6 Troop. He was awarded the M.C.; see also Storming St. Nazaire, by James G. Dorrian, for several first hand accounts of 192’s fate.

Prisoner of War - Early Escapades

In the immediate aftermath of the raid, Stephens and his party of survivors experienced the sharp end of German hospitality, including been lined-up against a church wall, with ‘three of the enemy facing us in a very menacing way with their machine-guns at the ready’ - but luckily an officer appeared on the scene before anything untoward occurred. And, after being marched off to temporary incarceration at the port’s submarine pens, during the course of which the German bringing up the rear of the party was ‘pretty free with his rifle butt’, not even water was provided for the wounded on arrival. Here, then, all the encouragement the likes of Stephens needed to contemplate a bid for freedom.

His first such bid, after being held at Rennes in ‘the most revolting and disgusting habitations I have ever seen’, was from the P.O.W. camp at Marlag in early June 1942, but he was recaptured after numerous adventures which are vividly described in his unpublished memoirs. Awarded seven days’ in the cells, he was moved to Stalag VIIIB at Lamsdorf, where conditions were very poor, and thence, in early September, to Oflag IVC (Colditz), but not before launching a daring escape while en route by rail to his new destination.

Unseen by his guards, he escaped via a lavatory window, climbed onto the carriage’s roof and clung on for dear life - ‘a most unpleasant and frightening experience’ - until, at length, the train slowed down on approaching a station. At this point Stephens jumped down to the carriage’s rear-footplate before running off over the tracks to the nearest cover, and, just over an hour later, climbed back on to the roof of another train, bound for Chemnitz. A ‘perfectly horrible’ journey ensued, in which he got colder and colder, such that by the time the train reached its destination he could barely move. Nonetheless, he tried his best to make a run for it when the train arrived, but was quickly pursued and grounded by ‘a large Hun on top of me’.

Colditz - The Plan

Arriving at Colditz a day or two later, and after having spent a week in the solitary for his latest escapade, Stephens quickly befriended another recent arrival, Major R. B. “Ronnie” Litterdale, K.R.R.C., who had been captured at Calais. Stephens’ unpublished wartime memoirs continue:

‘It was during one of our walks down to the park that Ronnie and I got our big idea; the kitchen, where the German cooks prepared our food, faced the court-yard on the one side and the Kommandantur Building on the other; we knew that we could get into it and we thought that if we could saw through the window bars and get out on the other side, we might, if we were lucky, avoid being seen by the sentries ... The window we proposed to get out of was some twelve feet from the ground and backing up against it was a “lean-to” affair with a corrugated iron roof, which was used for storing coal. There were three sentries standing or, as was supposed to be the case, patrolling the roadway which ran past this “lean-to” hut. After we got out of the window we should be in full view of two of these men as we crawled across the roof; we should then have to drop from the roof to the ground, a matter of about eight feet, cross the road on which the sentries were standing, passing within six yards of one of them, before we could gain the comparative safety of the Kommandantur garden. This was all made more difficult by the fact that the whole area was brilliantly floodlit and should the sentries chance to look in the direction of the coal house roof they could not fail to see us. I confess that I thought the scheme a little wild and the more people I talked to about it the more convinced I became that I was right. Ronnie, however, was absolutely determined to try it, basing all his hopes on the fact that the guards, who had probably been pacing up and down that self same beat for months if not years, would never think of anyone trying to get away with such a crazy idea and would consequently be slack; that they were slack there was no doubt. We used to take it in turns to watch them at nights and we found they spent most of their time stamping their feet to keep warm and furtively lighting cigarettes. Ronnie was absolutely determined to have a go at it and I soon found myself fired by his enthusiasm ... ’

A meeting of the Escape Committee having been convened, it was decided to give the scheme an airing, though the team was increased to four members, namely the addition of Captain P. R. “Pat” Reid, R.A.S.C., in lieu of his skills as a locksmith, and Flight Lieutenant H. D. “Hank” Wardle, R.C.A.F., to represent the Air Force. Clothing and false papers were quickly set in motion, Stephens and Litterdale adopting the identities of French workmen returning home on leave by train - ‘and we decided to go flat out to make Switzerland in three or four days’.

Colditz - The Escape

Of subsequent events, “Pat” Reid wrote in Colditz - The Full Story:

‘After evening Appell on 14 October we all made the highly dangerous run to the kitchen: Malcolm McColm was with us to cover our traces. Balaklava helmets and gloves covered out white skins. Hank and I got out through the window, made our way across the low roofs and dropped to the ground. A British orchestra - which the Germans had had several nights to get used to - was playing in the Saalhaus, conducted by Douglas Bader. Bader had a clear view of the sentry for the whole of his beat. The idea was to use the music for signalling: when they stopped playing it meant the escapers could cross his path.

The orchestra was playing as arranged, but each time I started across on the cessation of the music, it started again. Then I heard German voices. It was an off duty officer on his rounds. Suspicious, he was questioning the sentry. Five minutes later the music stopped again, but this time I was caught napping, and dared not risk a late dash. I waited a long time and the music did not begin again. Obviously things had gone wrong for the orchestra. I decided to wait an hour, to let suspicions die down.

In the hope that we could hide in that time from any passing Goon, I tried the handle of the door in the angle of the wall where we were hiding. It opened, and we entered warily. It was pitch-black inside. We went through a second door and took refuge in a room which seemed to contain no more than rubbish.

When the hour was up, we crept out again, and moved to the end of the wall as the sentry’s footsteps indicated that he was turning on his beat. I peered round the corner, saw the soldier ten yards off marching away, and with Hank close behind tiptoed across the pathway (we wore socks over our shoes). Soon we were hiding in a small shrubbery near the entrance to the Kommandantur. Ronnie and Billie clambered across the roofs from the kitchen when they saw us cross the path, and in no time we were all in the pit.

My next job was to see if I could open the door into the building from which Dominic Bruce had escaped. It was fifteen yards away. I reached it, and apart from a hair-raising interruption when I heard Priem returning from an evening in town, I worked for an hour without success. We would have to find another way out.

A tunnel led from our pit under a verandah. We felt our way along until we came to a cellar. At the far end was an air-vent or chimney flue. At first it seemed impossible for a man to negotiate this shaft, but after a few moments of despair I found that by removing some of my clothing I could slide up easily enough. I could see that it led to a bared opening at the level of the ground outside - that is, on the far side of the building, where lay the moat for which we were heading. One of the bars was loose in its mortar socket; I freed one end and bent it nearly double. We could just squeeze through!’

It was an enormous struggle, and we each had to strip naked, but by 3.30 a.m. we were all lying in bushes on the moat side of the Kommandantur. Indeed we were on the very edge of the moat. We peered over. Luckily the moat wall was stepped into three successive descents; the drops were about twelve feet and the steps were about two yards wide. We made a couple of sheet-ropes and climbed down, fully clothed once more. It was 4.30 a.m. By 5.15 a.m. we were over the outer boundary wall - none too soon, because we had a long way to go before dawn ... ’

By this stage, Stephens was longing for a smoke. Reid asked him how many cigarettes he had. “Fifty Gold Flake,” came back the reply. “Then you’d better start chain-smoking,” said Reid, “because, with luck, you’ve got about three hours before you mix with civilian people. That’s 17 cigarettes an hour. Can you do it?” - “I’ll try!”

The daring breakout of “The Four” had quickly prompted the appearance of a Gestapo “wanted poster” on 16 October, complete with their photographs and descriptions - thus ‘STEPHENS, William Lawson, Korvettenkapitan. Born 19.10.10. P.O.W. No. 18660. Height 1.83 metres. Fair hair. Blue eyes ... All means are to be taken to capture the escapers and to prevent them crossing the border!’

But, as confirmed by M.I. 9 records, team Stephens-Litterdale was already ahead of the game:

‘After separating from Reid and Wardle, we walked into Rochlitz, which was reached at 0730 hours. We were wearing civilian clothes brought in our attache cases. At 1805 hours we left the train for Chemnitz, arriving at 0920 hours. We took tickets for Stuttgart. We were questioned by the railway police, but our papers were satisfactory. We left Chemnitz at 0940 hours. We had to change at Hof at 1500 hours and until 1930 hours, when the Danzig express left for Nurenberg, we walked round in the town and drank beer in the station restaurant. We reached Nurenberg at 2300 hours.

We slept in the station restaurant until 0530 hours on 16 October, when we left by Schnellzug (fast train) for Stuttgart arriving at 10.15 hours. We had been told by a Polish officer in the camp that Stuttgart main station was strictly controlled, and to avoid booking from there to the frontier, so we went by train to the suburb of Esslingden, where we travelled by electric train to Plockingen, Reutlingen and Tubingen. From Tubingen we went to Tuttlingen. We took the wrong road out of Tuttlingen and had to spend the night of 16-17 October in a wood 6 k.m. S.E. of the town.

At daylight we made out our position by aid of a small map and home-made compass, and we went on foot across country to the railway just south of Immendigen. Here we rested until dark, when we moved on down the valley, in which the railway ran to a wood above Engen.

We lay up in the wood until dark on 18 October. The day was uneventful except that a man was shooting rooks with a rifle, and later a terrier came to look for us, but made no sign. We walked in the fields parallel to the railway and came into sight of Singen shunting yard about midnight. We retraced our steps and in crossing over the main line by a bridge were stopped by a sentry. We showed him our papers and satisfied him that we had lost our way to Singen station. After crossing the railway further north, we found the point where the Helsingen-Singen road meets the wood, shown to us as leading to the frontier.

We followed the wood, but it eventually became clear that we were wrong. We therefore lay up until dawn on 19 October and then reconnoitred to fix our position. Having done that we lay up until dark, and then, following a more easterly branch of the wood, arrived on the frontier road at 2100 hours. We were challenged by a frontier sentry, but owing to his credulity we were able to move away. We remained hidden until the moon went down, and crossed to the wood north of Ramsen, where we arrived about 0300 hours on 20 October. We remained hidden until dawn and then reported to the Swiss police in Ramsen.’

Switzerland and beyond

Reid and Wardle had also made Switzerland the previous evening, thus contributing to a record “home run” tally for Colditz. But further adventures remained, the escapers having to continue their journey from the safety of the British Consulate in Berne to Spain, via France.

Yet in Stephens’ case, who was awarded a Bar to his D.S.C., that journey did not actually commence until the end of 1943, after a period of special service in Switzerland, where he no doubt assisted Air Commodore F. M. F. “Freddie” West, V.C., the British Air Attache and Head of British Air Intelligence in Berne, process the ever increasing numbers of British and Commonwealth escapers crossing the Swiss frontier.

In common with many fellow escapers, he was again imprisoned on crossing the Pyrenees into Spain, but using his by now well-honed guile, he offered his wrist watch to a guard for a telephone call to the British Embassy in Madrid and was smuggled out in the boot of a large American car to Gibraltar and from there by air to the U.K., where he landed on 11 July 1944.

His final wartime appointment was as the Naval Representative in the British Delegation to the Black Sea port of Odessa, to witness the highly controversial return of unwilling Cossack P.O.Ws to the Soviets - an experience that left him deeply shocked.

Stephens received his D.S.C. and Bar from H.M. the King at a special investiture held in the Great Hall, Stormont in July 1945, on which same occasion his mother, Mrs. Lilian Stephens, was invested with the M.B.E. Then, at the end of hostilities, he returned to Switzerland to marry Chouchou de Meyer, whom he had met there during the War.

Colditz - The Return

Settling back in Northern Ireland, Stephens became a Deputy Lieutenant and High Sheriff of Co. Down, a Commissioner of Belfast Harbour and a Chairman of the Northern Ireland Tourist Board, whilst also retaining his links with “Chariot” by way of his appointment as Naval President of the St. Nazaire Association. Moreover, he made a return trip to Colditz in 1978:

“I particularly wanted to show it to my wife but she didn’t like it any more than I did. There was a feeling of decay everywhere, it was very sad. But I will never go back again. Once was enough for me.”

“Billie” Stephens, a private and modest man, but full of charisma, died at his residence at Chateauneuf de Grasse, France, in August 1997, aged 85 years.


TO BE SOLD WITH THE FOLLOWING ORIGINAL DOCUMENTATION:

(i) The official telegram to his father reporting Stephens as a confirmed P.O.W., stamped at Holyrood, Belfast, and dated 2 May 1942.
(ii) A strengthened-tissue escaper’s map, covering Germany and her borders, and quite likely used by Stephens in his escape from Colditz, or possibly his subsequent journey from Switzerland to Spain.
(iii) His forged wartime Urlaubsfchein (leave pass) in the name of Jean Bardet, a French electrician being employed by the Germans, with swastika stamps and Leipzig issue dates for 12-13 October 1942, and related Dienstausweis (service pass), with portrait photograph, swastika stamps and Leipzig issue date for 28 March 1942, as forged at Colditz and used by him during his escape to Switzerland.
(iv) A post card sent by Stephens to Lieutenant H. J. Higginson, R.N.V.R., at the British Legation, Lisbon, with Berne postmark for October 1942 (‘Having a grand holiday here with friends ... ’).
(v) A forged Carte D’Identite in the name of Charles Meslin, from Grenoble, France, with portrait photograph, and French police stamp dated 14 October 1943, folding blue cover; and related Identite du Titulaire and Certificat de Travail, these as used during the final leg of his journey to Spain.
(vi) A studio portrait photograph, in uniform, wearing the riband of his D.S.C. and Bar.
(vii) Assorted newspaper cuttings, wartime and later, including the recipient’s obituary notices in The Daily Telegraph and The Times.
(viii) A copy of the typed manuscript of his wartime memoir, 78pp., a hitherto unpublished and important wartime memoir, not least in respect of the recipient’s accounts of the St. Nazaire raid and his Colditz escape.
(ix) His mother’s M.B.E., Civil Division, type 2, breast badge, on Lady’s bow, in its Royal Mint case of issue.

Vendor states that part of the sale proceeds will go towards the publication of Commander Stephens’ wartime memoirs. The original manuscript is currently held by the Imperial War Museum though copyright remains with the vendor