大象传媒

This story was sent to the ICT Suite by the Rev. Henry Pass, of the Congregation of the Holy Ghost in Bromley, Kent, and is reproduced here with the permission of the owner.

John did his novitiate in Orly and took his first vows on 8th October, 1936. With six other English professed confreres, he then went to Mortain to study philosophy for two years. In 1939, while they were at home in England for their holidays, war was suddenly declared. Would it be safe for them to go back to France? Fr. Whiteside, the English Provincial Superior, asked both the Belgian and the Irish Province to accommodate them as both these countries were neutral but with the benefit of hindsight unsurprisingly, to no avail. So back to France they went, this time to Langonnet in Brittany, far enough away, it was thought, from any danger.

Now sixteen Englishmen in number, they sailed from Portsmouth to Le Havre in early November, 1939. Eventually after changing trains three times they reached Lorient, the French naval base, on the Atlantic coast. A narrow gauge railway, which served the countryside bringing farmers' wives with their eggs and butter to market, would drop them near to Langonnet.

The train, an old engine with one coach, full of country folk, chugged its way through the countryside. It went at such a speed that small boys could relieve their boredom by jumping off and running alongside to stretch their legs and then jump on again. Sometimes the train would stop in the middle of nowhere and a couple of regulars would get down and set off home in the dusk across the fields.

Night came on and the driver sent his fireman with a storm lamp. He came climbing over the logs in the tender and hung it up over the passengers as their only light. By 8 pm., 15 hours after leaving Le Havre 120 miles away, they reached the stop for Langonnet where a phone call brought a car to pick them up.

Fr. Gilroy now continues the story, 鈥淭he next morning we wandered round the vast collection of buildings. This was a former Cistercian monastery built in A.D. 1136 and acquired by the Holy Ghost Fathers in 1856. It served among other things as a junior seminary and as a retirement home for aged missionaries.

鈥淥ur theology college in Chevilly, Paris, had been taken over by the French army. The staff and students from there (those who had not been called up) had come to continue their lectures in Langonnet. Though quite late, we joined this group among whom were already six more students from England.

鈥淟angonnet is in the farming area of Brittany. Many of the farmers were away in the forces. Before leaving their farms for their wives to manage, they had sold off most of their cattle. Two German lay-brothers, both competent butchers, kept us well supplied with sausages. The watermill provided plenty of flour for bread and the locals made more butter than they could sell. In fact, whereas in the cities there was no butter to be had, a wick in a pat of butter, so we heard; was the only light they had in some of the remote farms鈥︹��

The following May, 1940, the German army swept into France and the 22 students from England knew that they had to get out quick. The superior and his council agreed and hired a bus to take them to the British consul in Bordeaux some 200 miles or more down the coast. After about 50 miles they reached Vannes, where the driver announced that he had to turn round and go back. He had heard, while in a cafe there, that the Germans had reached the coast. It might just be a rumour but he could not risk being cut off from his wife and children. They could hardly protest at his decision, especially as he agreed to take them back to Lorient, to find a ship to take them home.

鈥淪hortly after leaving Vannes, we came to a river and just in time too. Some French soldiers were blocking off the road prior to blowing up the bridge. They let us through and the bridge went up sky-high behind us. We heard later that other English students, in the same plight as ourselves, had arrived too late, could not cross and ended up in internment for the rest of the war. Again, near to Lorient we were the last to cross another bridge just before it was blown up.

鈥淚n Lorient, we heard that there was an English ship in the naval dockyard ready to sail. Now on foot and carrying our luggage, we trudged to the dock gates but were turned away by the soldiers on guard. Then we tried the fishing dock. Some naval officers arrived at the same time in their plush cars and declared that all the boats were open to refugees. Some sailors then arrived with sledge hammers and smashed up the car engines to deprive the enemy of their subsequent use. Others, for the same reason, came with loads of food from their stores.

Striding over sides of beef and sacks of bread on the deck we found a place on one of the boats and were soon out into the Bay of Biscay sailing south away from England. Still we might have better luck in La Rochelle. If any of us felt hungry, one of the crew would bring a large beef sandwich and a mug of wine.

As night came on we were shown into one of the fish holds. There were 30 or 40 of us crammed into a small space not as big as a modest sitting room and reeking of fish, with shelves on either side now used as bunks. The Bay became rough and the hatches had to be closed leaving only about one square foot for ventilation. Nearly everyone was sea sick which did not improve the fetid atmosphere.

Out on deck the following morning, we saw another fishing smack come near which was also full of refugees and seeking provisions and water. Our captain was very glad to get rid of some of the sides of beef from the deck along with the sacks of bread and some barrels of wine. That afternoon we disembarked at La Rochelle and found a ship filled with Belgian soldiers who threatened to shoot us if we came anywhere near.

Further on we came upon the 鈥淕dynia鈥�, a Polish ship ready to sail. We explained our situation and the officer in charge agreed to take us, only we had to keep out of sight and go down to the lowest deck. They were not supposed; he said, to take any civilians with them. By this time a lay person had joined us uninvited in the hopes of getting into England as one of us. We found this rather suspicious. Down below we waited about an hour and then the officer returned and apologised; saying that the ship could not sail. La Rochelle had been declared an open city and nothing could sail out.

The Poles said that a British troopship, the 鈥淎lderpool鈥�, was waiting in La Palice, a small port not far away, and suggested that we should go with them in the vehicles they had commandeered They put us into a closed van with three Poles in the front and told us to keep quiet until we were clear of the docks. Some soldiers challenged us at the dock gates but the only answer they got was three rifles pointing at them. So he got away.

In the dockyard at La Palice we saw a large number of Polish soldiers waiting to go on board up the only gangway in use. Officers stood there to identify their soldiers one by one. We were going to have to wait a long time. Meanwhile a small plane flew over several times dropping bombs. We threw ourselves on the ground for fear of shrapnel. One of our party took shelter under a nearby lorry only to be helped out with a kick and a few Polish oaths to and informed that the lorry was full of ammunition.

Night came on, our second night on the run. When the planes came over the next time, someone switched on the headlights of his car pointing directly at our ship. Whoever he was, he was taken behind a warehouse and we never saw him again but we did see the reason for the slow identity check. It was to stop enemy agents getting on board.

Finally it was our turn to embark. We set sail about 8.00 pm. and seemed to go far out into the Atlantic to avoid the coast of Brittany which was now occupied territory. The ship was dreadfully overcrowded and so we were once again told to find places for ourselves on the lowest deck. Two of us lay down on a blanket and tried to sleep and when we woke up next morning we found that there were six of us on the one blanket. Later I went for a stroll around the deck but it took me four hours to get through the crowds of refugees.

The 鈥淎lderpool鈥� had been sent direct to La Palice after similar missions to Dunkerque and to Narvik in Norway. As a result, supplies of food and water were now very low. On this second day on board; our Polish hosts gave us each a thick slice of bread and a sardine plus a pint of water to last for the whole journey. We had no containers for the water so they were kind enough to find some spare bottles. The bottles had previously been prepared as Molotov cocktails and so the water tasted of petrol as well as of rust from the ship's water tank. Meanwhile a Polish officer came round to make a note of our passports so as to inform England. We told him about the stranger who was pretending to be one of us and he also made a note about him. We sailed on all during the next day. We were starving and expecting enemy planes to appear at any time with a load of bombs, which at least, we felt, would put us out of our misery. However, we finally arrived safely off Plymouth. It was during the night and the port was closed to shipping for the night to keep out enemy submarines. With the dawn we sailed into port and tied up. It was Saturday morning and we were home.

The first to disembark were our suspicious stranger and four others. Their names were called out and they were marched off by naval guards. The Polish troops were next to go ashore. Each soldier's identity had to be verified; a slow process which kept us waiting for our turn until late afternoon. Once ashore we were asked if we had anything to declare in the way of guns and cameras but we had nothing. Our passport details were then checked against a huge register.

As we walked towards the dock gates, a member of the Women's Voluntary Service (WVS) apologised that they had exhausted all their stocks of bread in sandwiches for the Polish soldiers. They gave us each a chocolate biscuit and a welcome cup of tea. Outside the dock gates, some British soldiers gave us more tea and thick meat sandwiches. They must have known that we were starving. By chance we saw a newspaper which said that the "Alderpool" had been sunk while we were leaving France. Perhaps it was that public admission which persuaded the enemy not to waste their time looking for us.

We wanted to get home as quick as possible but we were told that this was Saturday night, too late to arrive home that day. The police did not want people stranded all over England on a Sunday. A bus then took us to the workhouse which had been emptied in readiness for refugees. The master and staff welcomed us and asked which did we want first, a bath or a meal. We said that the meal could wait so they gave us a big box of chocolates and cigarettes to enjoy until all were ready to eat. The master also went out and bought a gallon of Devonshire cider just to prove that it was better than what we were used to in France.

Then the local parish priest turned up and arranged for Mass the following morning.

The military police provided us with railway vouchers and our French francs were exchanged for English money at a very generous rate. For some war time reason railways along the south coast were closed. So we had to go to London by way of Crewe and take a train home from London. I arrived in my home town of Goole in Yorkshire early on Monday morning to the great surprise of my parents who were thinking that I was still in a safe part of France far from the fighting.

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