- Contributed by听
- bedfordmuseum
- People in story:听
- Mr. Frank Richards
- Location of story:听
- Northern France, UK
- Background to story:听
- Army
- Article ID:听
- A4971206
- Contributed on:听
- 11 August 2005
"On 1st September 1939, I was called up for service in the Army. I was a gunner in the Bedfordshire Yoemanry, a territorial unit which specialised in heavy artillery. We spent a few months near Bristol and in the spring on 1940 moved to France where we were billeted in a village near Armentieres. Life in France was a novelty to most of us, and we spent a few happy weeks there.
Then in May, the enemy launched their attack through Belgium and Holland. We moved up towards the Belgian frontier. From then on, we in the ranks had no idea of what was going on. Rumours spread that the Germany Army was making a quick advance. This was true and it soon became evident that our heavy artillery was going to take too long to get into position. We had to destroy it and retreat on foot. Near the town of St.Omer we came under fire, and one of the most dramatic occasions of my life was when I lay flat on the ground with machine-gun bullets whistling pver my head. The unit split up as we were given orders to retreat to the coast on foot. As we moved off we suffered our only fatality: the commanding officer. We walked on all through the night for about twenty-five miles, reaching the beach at Dunkirk in the early hours of the next morning. It was then that we realised what a disaster had overtaken the British Army. There were thousands of men on that beach, waiting to be taken off. We must have been an open target for enemy aircraft but bombs falling on the beach were not as one would have expected. This was probably due to the presence of RAF fighter planes that received great cheets from us as they flew over. The days went on and we probably didn't realise what we owed to the French troops who were keeping the enemy from reaching the town.
I was on the beach for about five days and then at about six o'clock one morning I was awakened by a friend who said, 'Quick! There's a boat putting in.' There was, and we joined a queue waiting for this small craft which I think was called the Viking. We waded in up to our thighs and clambered aboard. It set sail but the dramatic incidents were not over. Its engine had broken down and it took some time for the captain to get another ship to tow us. Half-way across the Channel the tow rope broke and it took considerable time in locating another ship to tow us across. Eventually we reached Dover and we thanked the captain and disembarked. It had taken us nearly twelve hours to cross the Channel. We were put on a train and the next morning got off at Cardiff where we where sent to barracks. At last there was food. I hadn't eaten for about ten days. I realise now how lucky I was. Three days after my evacuation the Germans entered Dunkirk.
Our unit was reassembled and the dramatic days were not yet over. I spent most of 1940 on the coastal batteries in Kent and Sussex expecing an invasion, with the sombre speculation that if they did come we would be among the first of their targets. Once again we cheered the RAF as we saw them break up the German bomber squadrons. After all this I realised how lucky I was in my war service. I spent most of my war years in the Orkneys and Shetlands, and never heard another shot fired.
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