One of the first modern Commando's.
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/core/Content/displayPrintable.jhtml?xml=/news/2006/07/21/db2101.xml&site=5&page=0
The Reverend His Honour Major Christopher Lea
(Filed: 21/07/2006)
The Reverend His Honour Major Christopher Lea, who has died aged 88, fulfilled every Victorian father's traditional hope that his younger sons would join the Army, the Law or the Church by entering all three professions.
Lea made his mark as a soldier by earning an MC in the first commando raid of the Second World War, which successfully blew up an Italian bridge. After being captured he read Law in prison camp, which led to his being called to the Bar by Inner Temple in 1948. He practised as a barrister before being becoming a metropolitan magistrate and later a circuit judge. Then, on retiring from the bench, he was ordained priest, and became a much-loved assistant curate at Stratfield Mortimer, Berkshire, for the remaining years of his life.
Christopher Gerald Lea was born at Kidderminster, Worcestershire, on November 27 1917. Christoph, as he was known, went to Charterhouse and Sandhurst, where he hoped to hunt four days a week like his elder brother, the future Lieutenant-General Sir George Lea; but he found that horses were being replaced by armoured vehicles.
Commissioned into the 20th Lancashire Fusiliers, Lea was sent to France on the outbreak of war, and wrote home that he was getting too much food and drink, though not enough exercise, and asking for books on Roman law.
After receiving a shrapnel wound in the Dunkirk retreat, Lea volunteered to be one of the first paratroops with X Troop, II Commando, on an unspecified mission. It was only when Admiral of the Fleet Sir Roger Keyes, Bt, Chief of Combined Operations, shook hands with each man, saluted, and was heard to say, "It's a pity, it's a pity", that they realised how dangerous the operation would be. They were to blow up a freshwater aqueduct of small importance near the village of Calitri, in the Tragino valley of southern Italy. The object was to test the RAF's skill; the men were then to escape 60 miles to a submarine that was supposed to wait at the coast. The demolition experts and much of the explosive material landed in the wrong place when the 35 men made their jumps from Whitley bombers, and the bridge turned out to be made of concrete instead of brick.
Bemused locals were enrolled to help carry the remaining explosives. One of them was a local stationmaster who protested that he would need a certificate to explain his lateness for work. "Yes, well, that will be quite all right," replied Lea. "I will sign a certificate if you produce it for me." Afterwards he could not recall whether he signed any paper, though he remembered that the stationmaster proved to be a good porter.
Just after midnight the bridge blew up - to hearty British cheers. But as the paratroops split into three parties and set off for their rendezvous, they found themselves sliding back in the mud and melting snow on the steep hills. By the third day, Lea had decided that his group would have to use a road if they were to reach their rendezvous. Drawing his pistol, he led them across a bridge in an eerie silence to find a motley group of soldiers, carabinieri, and male and female peasants emerging from hedges on either side armed with pitchforks, ancient muskets and rifles. The patrol's only option seemed to be to open fire; which would have meant civilian casualties. When a lance-corporal asked whether to shoot, Lea replied "No".
It was a painful decision, not least since it meant a humiliating surrender to a rabble. However, as Lea sat disconsolately afterwards in a barn under arrest, he was grateful to two lance-corporals who settled down on either side to say: "We think you made the right decision, sir."
Ten months after their capture the paratroops were in a prison camp at Sulmona, which was said to be escape-proof because it had three lines of barbed wire fencing and was 600 miles from the Swiss border. "You know, it's high time we made some effort to get out," Lea told his X troop comrade Tony Deane-Drummond.
They pretended to be two Italian electricians and planned to climb a ladder to replace a lamp by one fence, and then to scramble over it and two others. Their first attempt had to be abandoned because two loitering carabinieri were in their way.
On the second, they climbed over a wall into the NCOs' compound, only to be pounced on by guards. The automatic punishment was 21 days' solitary confinement, but all the cells were full; so they were sent back to their compound until there was room, giving them a chance to try again.
The next night the pair collected their specially made ladder, passed the guardroom and sentries and crossed the football pitch to the fences. Deane-Drummond was climbing up when a sentry shouted. He confidently called out Lampa and started to unscrew the light. But there was still light from the stars when it went out, and they were pulling up the ladder when a sentry ran from his box.
As Lea shouted that he should throw away the ladder, Deane-Drummond jumped down to the ground outside the camp with a graze from a bullet. Unaware that Lea had been hit in the groin by the same shot, he got away and, after being captured and then escaping again from a hospital, reached the Swiss border. Bleeding badly, Lea was taken to the camp hospital at the insistence of Dr Patrick Steptoe, who later became an in vitro specialist.
After ending the war in a German PoW camp, Lea served in the Indonesian campaign and in Austria before coming out of the Army, with a mention in dispatches, in 1948.
Following his call to the Bar he joined chambers at 1 Paper Buildings, beginning a common law practice, amid strong competition from other ex-servicemen starting late. He started to prosecute for the police in the lower courts, proving a modest, fair-minded advocate; he once pressed a case against a driver who had run away from a car crash, but was pursued by a witness, the runner Christopher Brasher.
In 1952 Lea married Susan Dorrien-Smith, with whom he was to have two sons and two daughters, one of whom later died.
To make ends meet, he became a metropolitan magistrate, deputy chairman of Berkshire quarter sessions and eventually a circuit judge. Demonstrating a mastery of the quizzical eyebrow, he left no offender unaware of the seriousness of his offence, but was never unduly harsh; he was happiest overseeing adoptions.
Lea had already been a churchwarden and a member of his parochial church council for some years when he retired from the bench in 1992. After being ordained in 1993, he settled down happily as an assistant curate at Stratfield Mortimer in Berkshire, where he put the Eucharist at the centre of his ministry until his death on June 1. Retaining his deprecatory sense of humour, he preached clear, thoughtful sermons, reflecting theological reading; he put his heart into every task, whether it was deanery business, visiting the sick or mowing the grass at the old church on the edge of the village where he had lived for 50 years.
Not the least of his pleasures was officiating, aged 80, at the marriage of his 40-year-old son and at the christening of his grandchildren.