The Star: August 20, 2020
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Thursday <strong>August</strong> <strong>20</strong> <strong>20</strong><strong>20</strong> <strong>The</strong> <strong>Star</strong><br />
Latest Canterbury news at starnews.co.nz<br />
13<br />
‘He took aim, waited . . . then CRACK!’<br />
• From page 10<br />
Charlie emerged out of an olive<br />
grove on the run. Somewhere<br />
behind him were two Germans<br />
armed with machine guns.<br />
Ahead of him was a hundred metres<br />
of exposed ground sprinkled<br />
with a few trees. He was halfway<br />
across when the Germans appeared<br />
out of the grove, guns<br />
chattering. One of Charlie’s men<br />
saw him jerk and twist as he fell<br />
from view into long grass. He<br />
was convinced Charlie had been<br />
killed. So were the Germans, but<br />
taking no chances, they crept<br />
forward cautiously.<br />
Kippenberger: “He fell and<br />
shammed dead, then crawled<br />
into a position and having the<br />
use of only one arm he rested his<br />
rifle in the fork of a tree as the<br />
Germans came forward.”<br />
Charlie had just tripped over<br />
an exposed root. He squirmed<br />
through the grass to a small tree<br />
that stood between him and his<br />
stalkers. <strong>The</strong> first branch was low.<br />
Charlie used his right hand to lift<br />
the heavy rifle into the fork. <strong>The</strong><br />
Jerries were close, looking for a<br />
body. Charlie let them creep closer.<br />
He took aim, waited until they<br />
were just 2 metres away, then<br />
squeezed the trigger — CRACK!<br />
<strong>The</strong> first German toppled to the<br />
ground. <strong>The</strong> second German<br />
paused in disbelief over his fallen<br />
comrade. It was time enough for<br />
Charlie to shift his good hand to<br />
the bolt, draw it back and bring<br />
another round into the chamber.<br />
Pushing it home, he squeezed the<br />
trigger again — CRACK! Blood<br />
spouting from the middle of his<br />
forehead, the second German fell<br />
face forward against the muzzle<br />
of Charlie’s rifle.<br />
Further up the slopes, Colonel<br />
Kippenberger was charged with<br />
holding Galatas against the<br />
German breakthrough with<br />
a makeshift force of drivers<br />
without trucks, gunners without<br />
artillery, the Kiwi Concert<br />
Party, plus Cretan irregulars and<br />
mainland Greek soldiers armed<br />
with ancient rifles. Some of his<br />
men broke and ran. Horrified<br />
that it might become contagious,<br />
the slightly built, undemonstrative<br />
small-town lawyer stood<br />
RESEARCH: Tom Scott retraced Upham’s World War 2<br />
footsteps in Egypt, Crete, Italy and Germany.<br />
PHOTO: NZ HERALD<br />
in the middle of the maelstrom<br />
shouting, “Stand for New Zealand!<br />
Stand, every man who is a<br />
soldier!” He sheepishly admitted<br />
later that he couldn’t think of<br />
anything else to say. It was hardly<br />
“We few, we happy few, we band<br />
of brothers!” like Henry V before<br />
the battle of Agincourt, but it was<br />
enough. It stopped a trickling<br />
retreat from becoming a complete<br />
gushing rout and made him a legend<br />
in the New Zealand Division.<br />
Kippenberger waited until<br />
dusk before launching a counterattack.<br />
With reinforcements<br />
from the 28th Battalion, Charlie’s<br />
platoon, and two British tanks,<br />
they charged back into the village<br />
with all guns blazing and<br />
Maori war chants electrifying the<br />
air. Unbidden, locals, including<br />
mothers and grandmothers,<br />
armed with knives, reap hooks,<br />
pitchforks, hoes and axes joined<br />
in, screaming like banshees.<br />
Kippenberger: “<strong>The</strong>re was a<br />
tremendous amount of bayonet<br />
work in Galatas. For 15 minutes<br />
there was perfect pandemonium<br />
in the village, an indescribable<br />
uproar, screams, grenade bursts<br />
and the deafening rattle of<br />
rifles, Brens and Tommy guns.<br />
<strong>The</strong> narrow cobbled street was<br />
carpeted with the dead, nearly<br />
all Germans. Every door and<br />
window had been smashed in,<br />
and dead Germans sprawled in<br />
every room by the street, with<br />
wounded on both sides walking,<br />
crawling or propped against the<br />
walls everywhere.’<br />
Chased down streets, over walls<br />
and across backyards, Germans<br />
fled in terror. But everyone knew<br />
that once they had gotten over<br />
their shock and called for reinforcements<br />
they would be back.<br />
A large painting depicting a<br />
scene of the fighting hangs on the<br />
wall of the antechamber attached<br />
to the church at Galatas. Holding<br />
a rock aloft, a bearded Cretan<br />
wearing a beret, sleeveless jerkin,<br />
breeches and knee-high leather<br />
boots stands over a cowering<br />
German. Trapped in his harness,<br />
as helpless as a bug on its back,<br />
the paratrooper is about to get his<br />
head stoved in.<br />
Beneath this violent image,<br />
sweet old ladies in black shawls<br />
eyed me suspiciously when I<br />
entered asking for directions to<br />
Stelios Tripalitakis’ war museum.<br />
Recognising my accent, an old<br />
man beamed and ushered me<br />
back into the square where I<br />
rang Stelios again. “Stay put!” he<br />
yelled. “STAY PUT!” “Sniper!”<br />
yelled the old man when I got off<br />
the phone, pointing with boyish<br />
glee to the church tower above<br />
us. For just a moment I caught<br />
glimpses of the gleeful boy who<br />
MONUMENT: <strong>The</strong> Charles Upham statue stands tall in<br />
Amberley.<br />
PHOTO: WIKIMEDIA<br />
witnessed the battle. He told me<br />
how his mother baked bread for<br />
Kiwi soldiers and he delivered it<br />
to their barricades.<br />
A belching car lurched up and<br />
Stelios leapt out. He had his book<br />
with him that featured a large<br />
collection of black-and- white<br />
photographs taken during the<br />
invasion. Included were shots of<br />
charred, rubble-strewn Galatas<br />
streets alongside shots of the<br />
same streets today, leafy and<br />
quiet. Stelios walked me to the<br />
spot where a dead Maori soldier<br />
lay in one of the photos. Despite<br />
the captions being in Greek, I<br />
purchased two copies. It was the<br />
least I could do.<br />
Stelios spends every spare<br />
moment scouring lofts, combing<br />
old battlefields with metal<br />
detectors and diving coastal<br />
waters searching for military<br />
relics and, with a bit of luck, the<br />
Crown Jewels of Greece. His<br />
bigger relics, rusting engine<br />
cowlings, chassis, motorbikes and<br />
the like, have taken over his lawn,<br />
garage and basement. Upstairs<br />
the living room is filled floor<br />
to ceiling with badges, buckles,<br />
helmets, guns and dressmakers’<br />
dummies clothed in German<br />
and British uniforms. He knows<br />
his swelling collection tests his<br />
family’s patience, but with a<br />
passion bordering on fever he<br />
wants young Cretans and young<br />
New Zealanders to never forget<br />
what happened here. You get the<br />
impression that if his wife were<br />
ever to say, “Stelios, either this<br />
s*** goes, or I do!” he would call<br />
her a cab. – NZ Herald<br />
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