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PART 2 -
Continued from Part 1 - Story A6870071

The morning of 18th dawned at last with the prospect of a fine, but to us in particular, a very eventful day. At 0600hours precisely we carried out the sad task of the destruction of our armaments, together with the majority of our transport. We left a large number of lethal booby traps of outstanding ingenuity which we hoped would seriously inconvenience any enemies, looters or other unwelcome visitors. Our kit bags and any other scanty possessions had disappeared long since; all we had left was our webbing equipment. This we put on and with a picket nominated to carry our six rifles we paraded in reasonably good order for our departure. After inspection by our one remaining officer, we marched off down the road. We rather wished we had a band to lead us, as we were in remarkably good cheer. Our now very sick man travelled in the Austin with a driver who was also a bit wobbly. The road was strewn with every possible type of discarded debris; the ditches were choked with abandoned vehicles, some of which were smouldering wrecks. As we passed through the town we received a few desultory hand claps, but much more in evidence were the catcalls and sometimes half bricks of the defeated and dispirited local population

The dock gates were soon reached and as we passed through them our eyes viewed with mounting concern the state of complete chaos and desolation of the empty quays which made up this reasonably sized and usually busy harbour. Our hearts sank a bit. Had all the vessels already gone? Were all our considerable efforts to be doomed to failure at this late stage? At the furthermost point of the inner harbour, however, just visible was a dirty looking single funnel collier of extreme decrepitude, but to us at that moment the Queen Mary herself could not have been more beautiful. As we drew nearer we could see very many British faces peering down on us from the deck. Ironical cheers and catcalls greeted us. It was quite clear that they did not see us in any heroic mould. The amount of stores of various descriptions still on the dockside, including our own Austin, indicated that the ‘last bus’ as we termed it, was more than full up. After a great deal of good natured arguing and persuasion, it was agreed that we should be allowed aboard provided we discarded our back packs, the available space left on the ship being so restricted. We therefore boarded quite happily in the clothes we stood up in plus our small haversacks and water bottles. We still had more than many others.

Once on board the ship we and all the other soldiers were clamouring loudly that we cast off. We could see no point in delay. This proved to be not possible for other reasons which soon became obvious and which were beyond our control. So far things had gone smoothly, too smoothly it appeared. The snag was this. St. Nazaire is on the Atlantic coast of France and is subject to extremes of tides. To combat this, the inner harbour has been built with a large pair of lock gates at the entrance. At high tide the harbour fills and the gates are shut and the water retained to enable any ships at berth to float. Clearly the gates cannot be opened until the tide has gone out and then come in again, roughly 12 hours later. Our ship was floating quite freely outside the harbour. But what lay outside? What was the state of the tide?

A small party of which I was one was detailed to investigate. We went ashore and doubled along to the end of the quay and arrived at the cabin from which the lock was controlled. The French officials inside looked rather apprehensive. One of them told us that the gates could not possibly be opened as the tide was out. If they were, he added with apparent satisfaction, all the water would run out of the harbour, and then where would we be? We enquired when they could be opened and were told it would not be safe before midday. It was now 9am. We returned to the ship to report, and on our way pushed our Austin in to the water. It was agreed that nothing could be done but wait.

About half an hour later two figures were seen to be approaching from the direction of the town. We were riveted with attention as they appeared to be wearing skirts, which was a very unfamiliar sight to most of us. When they got nearer it was seen that they were two kilted Jocks, each carrying a couple of bottles and obviously the worse for wear, but as happy as sandboys. When they arrived at the ship they stared up at us solemnly, ‘Bloody Froggies kaput’, announced the first. ‘Scotland forever Jimmy’, added the second. At which point they both burst out laughing and fell about with mirth. We welcomed them aboard, but quickly relieved them of their bottles. This little episode helped to pass the time , together with the diversion caused by occasional rifle fire at us by French ‘amis’ hidden in warehouses and buildings overlooking the dock. Some of our company were all for going ashore and ‘sorting them out’, but this was generally frowned upon and their aim was pretty rotten anyway.

By about 11am there was a tremendous commotion from the direction of the town, with sounds of gun fire and the rumbling of tanks. It was clearly time for us to make the next move. A further visit was paid to the lock control cabin. Eventually, after a short altercation during which the French lock controllers were slightly damaged, at 11.20 am the
gates slowly began to open. The level of the water in the basin dropped perceptibly and then seemed to balance itself and remain steady. We raced back to the ship, scrambled up the gangway and aboard. In a few moments ropes were cast off, sundry bells tinkled, engines throbbed and we were away.

Everyone seemed to be standing on tiptoes and we all expelled our breath. With gruesome scraping and clonking, the ship slowly started to move. Horrid noises were heard but after the agony of straining we were through the lock gates, into the outer harbour, and so to sea.

The lock gates at St. Nazaire were demolished within months of our leaving. They were rammed by an old destroyer, HMS Campelltown, packed with high explosives in a raid carried out by a combined force comprising of a Royal Naval crew and both Royal Marine and Army Commandoes. After the main explosion some delayed action charges in the vessel went off, causing casualties to a large number of German personnel investigating the previous damage. Commander Ryder, RN, and Lt. Col. Newman of the army were both awarded the Victoria Cross for their part of the operation, together with several decorations to other personnel. Some motor torpedo boats accompanied the Campelltown. These were used to ferry away the remainder of the naval personnel and commandoes after the operation. Considerable casualties were suffered.

Little happened on our ship, everyone sleeping for more than twelve hours. There were no odd corners that did not contain soldiers stretched out and enjoying some well-deserved rest. We first sailed due west to get well clear of the coast, then turned north hoping to avoid the unwelcome attention of any enemy aircraft. Later we changed course eastwards and arrived in Plymouth on 21st June. We saw the coast of England with mixed feelings, part relief, part sorrow, for our mates who had perished on the Lancastria, although we did not yet know the full extent of that tragedy. Also sad for our sick man, who had not had the strength to survive the journey. In a strange way we felt subdued as the adrenalin had ceased to flow. At long last our morale was starting to wobble. Mist shrouded the entrance to Plymouth Sound although Smeaton’s tower on the Hoe was coming into clear view.

Official information released at a later date stated the last BEF troops to leave France sailed from St. Nazaire on 18th June, except for some isolated individuals who journeyed further south and escaped through Bordeaux or even Spain and Portugal. I am quite sure that our ship, the S Harpathian, which left on that date, was the last to leave. No other ship was in the port when we sailed. Considering we marched to the ship in good order and boarded when it was already full, it would not be unreasonable for us to claim that we were the last organised party of BEF soldiers to leave French soil. Except perhaps for the two Jocks!

We were told that we should not be going ashore at once, as supplies and stores were to be ferried out to the ship. We thought that the real reason for the delay was that, after our experiences over the last week or two, we were not presentable enough to be paraded in front of the British public. The sight of us would probably have spread alarm and despondency, frightened the children and made the dogs bark. Speculation was rife as we stood on deck and watched the boats travelling to and from the shore. I remembered that I had a field service postcard in my haversack, the kind that I did not need to censor as one only crossed out whatever pre-printed words that did not apply. I dated the card and signed it, then spun it down in to a motor boat tied up below. ‘Post it’, I shouted to the boatman and hoped for the best. This he must have done as I heard later that it duly arrived on the breakfast table at home. At first it appeared to be ‘just another card’ but it was soon noticed that the postmark was ‘Plymouth’. Large quantities of rations, soap, razors, boots, uniforms and cleaning materials were dished out to those in need.

We were ferried ashore on 22nd June wondering what sort of reception we were likely to receive. We knew there was small glory in our exploits, but there was no doubt in our own minds that we had done our best against overwhelming odds. After we landed we were segregated into parties for onward transmission to areas where we could be restored to our original regiments. At this point we were regaled with tea and buns by kind and cheerful ladies of a reception committee. For this we were truly grateful.

Our unit was sent temporarily to the regimental HQ of Wiltshire Regiment at Devizes. There we ate, slept and bathed continuously for a few days. We were now fairly pleased with ourselves for having survived and were anxious to get home for a spell of leave. I am absolutely certain that at no time did any of us have any doubts as to the final result of the war or that we personally would have a significant part to play in it. Such is the confidence of youth.

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