大象传媒

I had been in France and Belgium since Jan. 1940, a wireless operator in a Signals Unit. It was the period of The Phoney War and the only frightening sound I had heard was the rustling of rats among my kit in the barn where I and my colleagues were sleeping.
At the beginning of May, the situation changed and soon, such was the speed of the German advance, all was chaos. I had arranged a date with a young mam'selle in the village but sadly was unable to keep it as we were on our way out.

Retreat was ordered and it quickly became apparent that evacuation would become the order of the day as we were given instructions to "stand down" and make our own way to Dunkirk. I found myself, the truck driver and another wireless operator and the vehicle for transport with specific orders to "get the hell out of it"!

For the next two days, we became weary travellers, avoiding air attacks in the retreat to the Dunkirk perimeter. By this time, there were thousands of exhausted soldiers, streaming in the same direction to the coast. The roads by now were crammed with abandoned vehicles and we shortly had to leave our truck and continue on foot After many hazards including the crossing of a canal by using the tops of vehicles abandoned in the water as stepping stones. I lost my two companions who, presumably, were making their own way to the Dunkirk area. Finally, I reached the beaches where already thousands of soldiers were waiting to be evacuated to England. I had managed to retrieve a few tins of evaporated milk from an abandoned vehicle which were to keep me going for two or three days as there were no other rations available. I had also been able to fill my water bottle with fresh water which I rationed to myself to a few sips at a time.

The little ships and naval craft from England were now on the scene to rescue us and I noticed that some men were swimming to a naval destroyer which had moored as near as it could to the beach. As I was not a good swimmer, I was unable to join them but as events turned out,this was a blessing in disguise for German Stuka dive bombers were appearing above and were starting to dive-bomb the ships. Sadly the destroyer was hit by several bombs and sank. I would not know how many soldiers and sailors were killed on that ship but it was a case of "There for the grace of God go I".

After the bombing, large queues were forming on the beaches waiting for the boats, any boat, to take the B.E.F. and other allied troops back to England. So, in good old English tradition, I joined the end of a very long line and patiently awaited my turn. I must have been in that queue for hours, with sea water lapping at my feet and ankles. But this time, I had drawn the short straw. Two officers with revolvers in their hands were controlling the queue and their first words to me were "What division are you from?" I said "44th Division sir" at which one of the officers replied "Get out of here before we shoot you - this if for the 51st Highland Division!" Still valuing my life, I did as they commanded.

It was now quite late and, feeling very tired, I walked back to the beach where there were some comfortable-looking sand dunes. I picked a spot and, using my well-filled valise as a pillow, went fast asleep. Not even bombs or noisy troops woke me.

The next morning, goodness know what time it was as I had no watch, I was at a loss to know what to do. The scene had not changed greatly -still thousands of troops milling around on the beaches, the distinct sound of shelling and the inevitable Stuka dive bomber. There was nobody to ask for help as we were all in the same predicament.

But then, some time in the afternoon, my chance came. I noticed that a French officer had somehow acquired a small rowing boat and was trying to float it. Without a moment's hesitation, I dashed over to help him and found out why he was having no success - the boat was almost full of water. However, another soldier came to offer his assistance and the three of us managed finally to launch the vessel. Fortunately I still had my steel helmet and began baling the water out. We jumped into the boat and the French officer was able to row with a paddle which, fortunately had been left behind by the previous occupants. So there we were, rowing out to sea, the Frenchman paddling, me baling and our other companion doing his best to steer. Goodness knows how long we were bobbing up and down but eventually, a small naval launch came alongside and picked us up. Subsequently we were transferred to a Dutch cargo boat. There were hundreds of soldiers crammed onto this vessel and the only room left for us was down in the hold which was dark and filthy, smelling of coal. I was made to dump my valise in the sea due to lack of space. That was a pity as I had collected some useful souvenirs en route to Dunkirk. I suppose that was a form of Fate's retribution or price for our rescue. But we did not mind the discomforture - we considered ourselves safe and were returning to England.

The boat eventually arrived at Margate just after midnight and disgorged a very tired and disreputable-looking bunch of soldiers. The first thing we were given was a cup of tea - probably the best I have ever tasted!

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