A very modest man, he had made the Island his home with his Jersey-born wife Rosa (née Roche) in 1982 and remained here until he died in 1994, aged 77.
The extent of this man’s outstanding courage has now been fully revealed in the recent publication by his daughter Rosa Lia Troch of the book he wrote about his experiences as a Special Operations Executive in Belgium during the Second World War.
Born in London, Mr Latimer was turned down by the regular armed services because of his very poor eyesight.
However, his ability to speak six languages led to him being recruited to be an SOE operative – the group set up by Winston Churchill as a separate, independent organisation from M15 and M16 to organise resistance against the Germans.
Intensive training he received included how to handle explosives and arms, wireless transmission, parachuting skills, spying techniques and the use of code and passwords.
In November 1942, Captain Latimer was parachuted into Belgium on a mission to organise the collection of arms and ammunition in co-operation with the Belgian Secret Army.
Over the next five months he organised, with the team he recruited on the ground, the successful collection of 100 containers dropped by the British in the Belgian countryside.
As more people came to know about the operations, they became more dangerous and Captain Latimer was recalled to London.
However, he returned to Belgium on another mission some time afterwards and working undercover he set up a communications network for the Belgian Secret Army, and he also trained operators to use radio equipment.
The nightmare for him began when he was captured by the Gestapo on 28 May 1944, transferred to the prison of St Gilles where he was held for 103 days and brutally tortured.
An article in the London Gazette reported about his torture the following year after Captain Latimer was awarded the Military Cross :
‘The Gestapo were aware that they had a key man in their hands and made every effort to extract from him the maximum information.
Captain Latimer induced them to believe that he was one of the chief ‘detached’ signals experts from Home Station who was organising a clandestine circuit throughout Belgium.
He betrayed no-one, and although he had been in contact with many important members of the Secret Army his arrest had no repercussions.’
The article continued: ‘Captain Latimer throughout his mission showed great courage, devotion to duty and fearlessness in the face of danger.’
He escaped from his captors with other prisoners when the train on which they were being transported was sabotaged by local railway workers who had blown up the tracks.
For his courage, Captain Latimer was also made an MBE and awarded the Belgian Croix de Guerre with two bars.
Captain Latimer’s wife Rosa recently celebrated her 100th birthday in Jersey with her three children Rosa Lia, Rosario and Raoul (known as Patrick.)
When interviewed by the JEP a number of years before he died, Mr Latimer said that he was conscious that torture was still being used around the world – which made him angry.
He said at that time: ‘How can they do this to people?’
The book entitled ‘Memoirs of Raoul’ is available on the website http://memoirsofraoul.wordpress.com
EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF A WARTIME HERO
TRAINING TO BE A SECRET AGENT
‘Where should you hide documents, papers, codes etc? This is a very difficult problem in which one should use psychology. It is a kind of chess game.
The number of hiding places is not unlimited in any room or house, and an experienced searcher seldom comes across a case that really baffles him. You can either choose the very obvious place or the most difficult spot.’
‘The best hiding places in most cases are ones which are difficult to get at, and to reach them would require extra special effort, this of course, without being too obvious.’
‘Never leave your toilet accessories, razor, brushes, toothpaste or comb in disorder. If you always leave them perfectly in order you will easily notice when a strange hand has changed their order and searched your room during your absence because nearly always clandestine searchers do not replace all items exactly the same way they found them.
And what use can a hair be? A hair that has disappeared after being put in a keyhole means someone else beside you has put a key in there.’
Major Thompson asks Mr Latimer: ‘Do you know your cover story… You are Auguste Bosschaert, you fled to France in May 1940, registered at Montpellier. This is your labourer’s card in Montpellier where you did book-keeping work, then you hitch-hiked back to Belgium, smuggled across the line between occupied and free France, and through the Belgian frontier……’
‘This was a shock. We were not going to use the usual A-type parachute we had trained with. We were to be guinea pigs, use a certain X-type parachute. The principle was the same, but it was designed to enable us to take our equipment along.’
FIRST PARACHUTE DROP INTO BELGIUM
‘We circle around…….RED, RED, RED, RED, GREEN!!!!
Like an automat I go! A terrible gust of wind, a very hard wrench on my left shoulder ….and unearthly quiet…I’m alive! I put my arms up to grab hold of the straps. My left shoulder hurts like blazes. What’s this? I can only find one strap…I look up…Good God! The strap of my left shoulder has snapped, the clip didn’t hold.
I am hanging only with one strap from the parachute. Quickly, I grab hold of this one remaining strap with my two hands. I’m coming down fast. I look too late…crash…. Up man, up, you’ll be dragged along.
I can’t, I lie still, my face in a dung heap at the edge of a field. The canopy of the parachute stopped by the barbed wire fence, slowly it deflates.
I’m alive on God’s good earth. My shoulder, my face hurt, but I am intact.’
AFTER CONTACTS HE HAD BEEN GIVEN IN BRUSSELS FAILED HE FINDS A MAN CALLED MILO TO ASSIST THE MISSION
Milo asks him: ‘What can I do?’
Mr Latimer: The first thing is to find a residence, a permanent one, where we can live for short periods and transmit to England. Preferably, this should be an isolated spot in the country.’
He tells Milo: ‘Our job is to form arms, ammunition and explosive dumps in the region of Ghent-Courtrai-Tournai. We have to find people who are willing to receive a load of containers, either parachuted directly onto their property or brought to them to keep hidden there until the Allied Command sends instructions for its use. These arms must not be given to anyone for use in subversive activities until such time as instructions are received.’
RELENTLESS TORTURE AFTER BEING CAPTURED in 1944 WHEN IN BELGIUM FOR THE SECOND TIME
Gestapo: ‘Who is Osric?’
Mr Latimer: ‘I don’t know..’
Slap, slap.
Gestapo: ‘You don’t know, we will make you remember.’
‘Slap, then one of them applied a flannel cloth around my neck and started twisting it around. Tighter, tighter, black dots were swimming in front of my eyes. Then suddenly they let loose, I gulped air.’
Gestapo: ‘Who is Osric?’
Mr Latimer: ‘I don’t know..’
‘Once again they started the same trick. This time they must have twisted it a bit too much, because the next thing I knew I was on the floor and could see Hammermüller was remonstrating with the man. Humanitarian? No, he just didn’t want me to kick the bucket yet…’
‘Back in my cell I managed to drag myself onto my straw bed. Oh, my God, would this never end. How could I keep this up?’
Gestapo: ‘Undress.’
‘Bang, down I go. I suppose I’ll have to undress. Slowly, I take my clothes off……A red-headed fellow undresses also and stands by only in shorts. From his accent I guessed he was a Frenchman. A traitor, I’m sure, he couldn’t be anything else with such a Parisian accent.
My ankles are tied together by a leather strap. I’m shivering slightly, whether it is from cold or fright I don’t know. Probably fright as it is summer.
I’m stark naked, my hands are now firmly bound together behind my back….The bathtub is three quarters full of cold water, and I’m sat on the edge of the tub.’
Gestapo: Now tell us who Osric is?’
Mr Latimer: ‘I don’t know.’
‘I was pushed backwards, under the water, someone grabbed hold of my legs and held them up in the air, another one kept my head well under water. Struggle, struggle in vain. I can’t just drown like a rat in a bathtub!
Hold my breath, hold on. I can’t anymore. Kick, kick, the water. It is hopeless, I’m swallowing water now, I’m choking. Isn’t there anything one can do against these inhuman beasts?
Ah, I’m out, I cough and cough and spit out water and water…
After more bouts in the bathtub…
‘I’m sprawled out on the floor of the bathroom. That dirty traitor is sitting on my back trying to revive me by artificial respiration. So, I didn’t die after all. I must have passed out……’
