大象传媒

At the time of the German invasion of France my father was stationed in Belgium. After some fighting, he was captured by the Germans. However he knew the countryside quite well, because his unit had been stationed there, and decided to take a risk; he told his friend to jump in a ditch as they rounded a corner and thus escape. He journeyed to the coast as best he could, at one point purloining and riding on someone's white horse. He told me that men learned how to swim, whilst trying to get away, who had never swum before.

My father always said that he was one of the last men to come off the beaches, from a place called Bray Dune. My details are very scrappy; because the experience, and the things he suffered, had such a profound effect, that he would never talk much about the subject. I think it hurt him too much.

His army service spanned 20 odd years ending in 1961. Whilst still in the army, he met a friend whilst shopping in the Naffi at Donnington, whom he had not seen since Dunkirk and not evan known had survived. There was consternation at home because we were gone for over an hour on a five minute trip.

The Dunkirk Vetern's association was a source of solace, and he made good friends through this, one of whom kept in touch with our family until my mother's death last year. He made the annual pilgrimage on a number of occasions until his untimely death at 58.

My mother too was in the Army. She was stationed at Alton Towers and told me that at the time of the evacuation all leave was cancelled. She told me what a terrible state the men were in; hungry, some without shoes and clothes. One man arrived days later than the others having gone home first and only returned to his unit when his mother was informed of his sad demise.

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