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In World War II, in the retreat to Dunkirk, he was operational commander of "Mac Force," the improvised formation covering the British right flank, and was mentioned in dispatches. Back in England he shot up to be the youngest lieutenant general in the British army. Believing he had risen too quickly, he asked for and got a combat command.
Wounded by a Piano. In Italy he soon won a reputation for restless energy, drive and impetuosity. When patrols went out, he sat up and waited for their return, so that he could interrogate the patrol commander himself. At a critical moment on the Anzio beachhead he ordered every man available—sappers, cooks, clerks—into the firing line. "He acted like a red-hot poker," says one of his officers. "He always impressed you as a man who was inevitably heading for a tremendous crackup," says another.
Speeding along the road toward Flor ence one day, he met a truck coming from the front with a looted baby grand piano. Seeing the general's stars, the truck driver pulled aside to let him pass—and hit a land mine in the ditch. Part of the piano came hurtling down on Templer's back, seriously injuring his spine. When he recovered, the war was almost over. ("Only general ever wounded by a piano," he says savagely.) Appointed first military governor of the British zone in Germany, he announced that he intended to be "firm to the point of ruthlessness ... I have still to meet a German who says he's sorry. But that's the nature of the beast."
Claret & Crystal. War's end brought Templer full generalship, knighthood, and elevation to the Imperial General Staff. But his proudest preferment is his colonelcy of the Royal Irish Fusiliers.
Templer's father had started a collection of regimental trophies, flags, uniforms and weapons at Loughgall Manor, Armagh. Templer set up a regimental museum, restored to the regiment its original war trophy: Napoleon's eagle-headed standard, which an Irish rifleman had captured in the Peninsular War.
Templer is the perfect picture of a British regular soldier: an austere, stiff-backed autocrat in uniform—and in mufti a bit of a dandy. He lived elegantly in London's Belgravia and became a connoisseur of claret, crystal and ijth century books. But in the company of his old war comrades he could relax. Says one: "He'll bring along an elderly fellow in civilian attire and introduce him to the officers as 'You remember Sergeant So-and-So. He and I fought together at So-and-So.' Sometimes if you happen to mention the name of a ranker he'll slap his thigh and declare: T knew him before his mother's milk was dry on his lips.' "
It was not surprising that such a man should say to Churchill: "If I make a mess of it I want to go back to the army. If I don't make a mess of it I -want to go back to the army." In the Malayan jungle, fighting a cruel war, there were moments when many thought he was making a mess of it.