大象传媒

The story that follows takes the form of a series of my father's recollections begining with the departure of The Guards to France and ending when he was taken off the beaches of Dunkirk.

Chapter 1 - The departure

I joined up before the war, in 1937 at age 15 as a result of a brush with our local bobby who gave me and my pals the choice of reporting our misdemenours or our enlisting in the army. Being a big lad, around the 6'3" mark the recruiting sergeant suggested that I join the Guards. This sounded a little too serious so I indicated I would prefer a county regiment a little nearer home (Somerset) and so it was that I joined the Wrcestershire Regiment, little knowing that with this being a feeder regiment for the Grenadiers the sergeant would eventually get his way.
After 6 months of training with the Worcesters I was given a compulsory transfer to 2nd Battalion Grenadier Guards. I cannot say that at the time I was overjoyed but looking back in later life would come to appreciate the sentiments of a well known British politician, also a former Guardsman, that every man should at some time in his life know what it is to be a part of something that is absoltely first class.
Time passed and I was given the nickname of "Bristol" that being the only town in Somerset most of the lads knew and teamed up with another tall lad named Swift. I had the privilege of being posted to Windsor castle and being presented on occasion to the old king (George V and Queen Mary) then when the clouds of war gathered I was mustered with the battalion in the Savernak forest under canvasin preparation to join what became known as the BEF.
This situation was not entirely to our liking, we the pre-war regulars and those about to go and fight were turned out of barracks under canvasto make war for recruits who took the barracks. There were actually protests about this treatment from our NCO's and I recall that several, including a Sergeant Major lost their rank as a result of this so called "mutiny".
Things calmed down then and we busied ourselves with preparation finally being drawn up on parade for a final inspection by the King (George VI) before being sent to France. Being so tall I was the right hand man in our Battalion and had the privilege of shaking His Majesties hand as he bade us a symbolic farewell.

Chapter 2. Into Belgium

Finally the phoney war was at an end and we would get a crack at the Huns, (a Great War term that had had a resurgence of use since the outbreak of war).
With the German invasion of the low countries we were sent up into Belgium to help hold the line in Flanders. As we marched we passed many reminders of the great battles of that first terrible modern war that our fathers had fought against the same enemy in these same fields. The Belgians cheered us on and pressed flowers and food upon us.

Chapter 3. The Belgian collapse

Word spread fast, the Belgian army had collapsed and was in full retreat! All around we saw the belgians in their first world war helmets and long coats in full flight Westward and yet still (for a while) we advanced until it was realised that if we did not pull back we would be cut off as the Germans had broken through somewhere in the rear and were in France!
So we began the first retreat, effectively becoming a rearguard for the fleeing Belgians and the refugee columns that had already begun to form. Here and there individual Belgians or small groups prepared to stand, we would later pass one such man dead by the roadside his friontage littered with a score or more of dead Germans, such men were exceptions however, the bulk just fled. We now had to march back through tose same villages we had advanced through such a short time ago, this time with curses and insults ringing in our ears from a population that understood even less than we why we were withdrawing instead of fighting.

Chapter 3 The Padres address

We had all been called together for a quick service and address by the Padre. He was a good old stick the padre, and gave it to us straight that we would soon be going into battle and that many of us might be killed. He reminded us whay we were there and after a short service in which he advised each of us to make our peace with God according to our own beliefs and to write a will and a letter home which he would shortly collect.

Chapter 4 - assault on the woods

We were now part of the rearguard conducting a fighting retreat and trying desperately (as we would later understand) to close the gap that the Germans had punched in the French lines.
We were dug in, somewhere in France I think, and were preparing for a counter-attack against some German forces in the woods opposite. The attack would go in at first light, we knew it was serious because a rum ration was passed down the line - a double ration for each man. Then shortly after came that most awful of orders "fix bayonets" - you cannot imagine the chill generated by those words.
In a few minutes we were out of the trench and going hell for leather towards the woods, we were in, men were falling all aroundrifle fire and grenades, but where from? then we realised the bloody germans were all up in the trees! they rained grenades down on us and potted us with impunity. We had to withdraw, artillery was called in and plastered the woods. That finished the guys in the trees - artillery fire in woods is a terrible thing, the trees splinter and cause horrible wounds. then we went in with the bayonet and drove the rest out. I was just turned 18.

chapter 5 - Tanks!

It was early morning and most of the company was sleeping off a hangover in a small deserted village in which we had spent the night. Being the youngest in the battalion and only just 18 I had not really partaken of the liberated wine and along with the RSM was about the only truly sober soldier in town. A runner came in from one of the outposts, German tanks were heading sraight for the village. The RSM collared me to help get everyone up and out and then the fun began.
Being big despite my youth I was the company anti tank gunner and was equiped with a Boyes anti-tank rifle, one of the most useless weapons ever to be issued to the British army. I was posted with a sergeant and my number two on the outskirts facing the advancing tanks. When they came within range I let fly - nothing happened, I fired again - again no result, they just kept on coming. At 100 yards I could see the strikes were the rounds hit but they had no effect. The sergeant was screaming at me "Hit the **** thing for gods sake" "I am" I replied, "they're bouncing off!" "The vision slits, get the vision slits" he yelled. Still no effect, now they were down to about 60-70 yards "give the bloddy thing here" yelled the Sergeant and himself landed two rounds bang on the drivers slits at no more than 50 yards - they bounced off!!
"fall back" cried the Sergeant and I like an idiot asked him "What about the gun?" "Leave the **** thing it's useless" he replied. and we scuttled away to rejoin the unit, now re-formed on the other side of town.
When we rejoined the unit the Sergeant made his report, including his assessmet of the Boyes rifle. We were however sent back to retrieve the Boyes "We can't have Guardsmen leaving their weapons behind can we?" was the rhetorical question "We would never live it down." I carried the Boyes all the way to Dunkirk where we destroyed it, only being allowed our rifles on board ship.

Chapter 6. The nature of the beast.

We were still in the rearguard, the situation was bad, the order had come back for all units to make for Dunkirk. Not that anyone knew where it was. One rumour was that we were being shipped out to fight in the desert!
Many times on the road to Dunkirk we found that the German motorised units had got around us and were in fact ahead of us.
One such occasion has stuck with me in vivid detail, we were passing through a small French village through which the germans had already passed. Every living thing in the village had been shot, old men, women, children and even a dog still tied to its post in the yard. Even the old sweats were shocked but the worst was still to come, as we passed one farmhouse we found a young woman crucified on the gatepost with bayonets, her breasts cut off, her body mutilated and a placard heng round her neck. Several of us were sick.
when we came back after Dunkirk we would often be asked in the pub what it had been like, at first we told the truth including this story a couple of times, but no one would believe us, they thought we were making up stories to get a beer. From then on we shut up, "not so bad" we would say when a civvy asked how it was. Many of them would never know what we went through or saw for more than nearly 40 years I would not tell of this again. Now it must be told, written down for posterity, We owe her that much, whoever she was. We took her down and buried her with her dog alongside her.

Chapter 7. Refugees and an unknown hero

As we made our way West the roads had become clogged with refugees, the scenes are now familar to all, the carts and prams crammed with belongsings, old and young walking alongside, sometimes with animals as well. We soon learned to march acroos the fields and avoid the roads - and not just because of the congestion. The Stuka's would come sceaming in and straff the columns, it did not seem to matter that they were civvies. The stuka pilots could also place a bomb very accurately and would do so with clockwork precision amidst the fleeing masses. As a rule we abandoned any anti-aircraft action, we only had rifles and Brens and it just drew attention to ourselves.
There was one occasion that was different, The stukas came in as usual and dropped a stick [of bombs] on a column of civvies then came back with their machine guns blazing. One of our Corporals had had enough, His gun group had a ripod for their Bren and he began to set it up in an Anti-aircraft role in a field, we were all shouting for him to get down but he did not want to hear, he had it up in a jiffy and waving away his number 2 he let fly at the unopposed aircraft sraffing the column. He caught one of the stukas as it had just finished it's dive and was pulling out - they almost hung in the air at that point. We could see the canopy shatter as he hit the pilot and seconds later the plane exploded the other side of the road. A cheer went up and then more calls for him to get down. The other planes had now turned and this lone Guardsman and his Bren were their target. One by one they came in and straffed him. His number two was now filling and passing magazines, incredibly he was not hit in the first passes and continued to fire, drawing the planes away from the fleeing refugees. "get down you silly ****" I heard someone cry but either he did not hear or ignored it. They came around for a second pass and we saw him hit, he was slumped over the gun, propping himself on the tripod he kept at it. He must have hit another of the pilots because one of the Stukas coming in never pulled out and our Corporal, whoever he was, took another with him as it literally dived straight into him. It all happened in less time than it takes to tell, but it was one of the bravest things I've seen.

Chpater 8. Arriving at Dunkirk

As the retreat went on it became more chaotic, units became split and ad-hoc units were formed into the rearguard. Transport and officers became scarce, the army was held together by it's NCO's. In many cases commanding what was left of companies or composite units. I did at one time manage to hitch a ride on a Bren carrier I had had so little sleep that I fell asleep - and off the carrier very quickly.
After yet another rearguard fight we teamed up with a Sergeant and some lads from, I think, the Ox and Bucks (Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire Regt.) As we approached Dunkirk the scale of the disaster hit us - trucks carriers stores all sorts burning by the roadside, at one time we saw a few lads helping themselves to the contents of a French bank that had been hit - till the Gendarmes appeared and shot one of them, this was seen as rather over the top given the situation and there were mutterings, "Pity they can't shoot a few Germans instead of us" was one of the comments.

As we enterred the town we were pulled aside by the redcaps (Military Police) who were pulling out anyone from a "good regiment" (elite) to form yet another rearguard. The lads from the Ox and Bucks stayed with us and alsongside a group of others, jocks and light infantry I think. we set off out of town to form a roadblock. We had not gone too far when an officer came staggering towards us covered in blood and dragging his leg. "get back" he called "Take cover, they're not far behind." It seems his section had been manning a block some way down and had been attacked in force the section had been wiped out and he had been left for dead. We dressed him as best as possible and withdrew to the edge of town.
Eventually we were relieved and I was sent down on to the beach to await being pulled off.

Chapter 9 - leaving Dunkirk

I spent three days on the beach wating to be taken off, burrowing into the sand and the dunes. A rumour began to circulate while I was there that the Germans had shot a whole bunch of Guardsmen and Norfolks, (part of the rearguard) after they had run out of ammo and surrendered. This outraged us all but in view of what some of us had seen was perfectly believeable. This story was officially denied for many years and dismissed as a rumour, I told it to my son although it never appeared anywhere in print until later a survivor came forward, sometime in the late 1970''s I think, it was proved to be true and I believe they prosecuted some of the SS that did it for war crimes.

I was lucky coming out of Dunkirk as I was in one of the last batches to be taken off the mole and was ferried out to a destroyer, I believe the last destroyer to directly pick anyone up, the name escapes me just now but it began with a W - Worcester, Windsor something like that. i remember coming home sitting on the shells in the ships magazine and eating a tin of beans given me by one of the crew.

The reception we got when we got home was great, anyone would have thought we had won! Tea and sandwiches and all that. I had to have my boots cut from my feet as they had not been off since we marched out of Belgium weeks ago and I had marched and fought from belgium through Popringhe and all the way back to the beaches. My feet were Gangrenous and so soft that you could push a matchstick into them for a good half its length before I felt anything.

I was excused boots and put on light duties. One of the results of this inability to wear boots for some time would later be a posting on board a merchantmen as an anti-aircraft gunner. I did six months as a gunner on the arctic convoys to Russia, later volunteering for the special services seeing service in Italy and then in 1944 seeing with the Guards armoured division trying to reach my brother, a Sergeant in the Parachute Regiment, and his mates trapped at Arnhem. But those are other stories.

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