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This story was submitted to the People's War site by Diss Learning Station on behalf of Doug Chandler, and has been added to the site with his permission.
The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

In 1939 those people aged 20 years or more were called up for 6 months training in the Militia. At this time war was declared and I was sent to Catterick for training with the Royal Corps of Signals.

From Catterick my unit was moved to Derbyshire prior to embarking from Portsmouth to Le Havre in France. After landing we were instructed to set up a forward signals post in Bethune, North France. From here we moved forward again to the Belgium border. We were met by tens of thousands of evacuees trying to escape the advancing German troops that were circumnavigating the Maginot Line. We, and of course the evacuees, were strafed by Luftwaffe aircraft.

By this time the British forces were in retreat and, having immobilised our vehicles, we were ordered to head on foot to Dunkirk. We had no alternative to seek whatever safe place we could find to spend our rather sleepless nights. On arriving at the outskirts of Dunkirk we had to cross a canal by means of a plank of wood placed, somewhat precariously, across it. From there we followed the railway tracks into Dunkirk where we joined thousands of massed troops already there.

On arrival we were all given a number for evacuation but after spending 2 days and night on the beach we became separated from one another. Finally a group of 24 of us were ordered to march 4 miles along the beach to another embarkation point at Bray Dunes. However, on arrival, we were told that we would be unable to embark and were ordered to return back to where we had started. This meant that we’d marched a total of twelve miles. Luckily upon arrival there was a destroyer alongside the ‘Mole’ and we were shipped to Dover enjoying a hunk of dry bread washed down by a steaming hot cup of cocoa en-route. On disembarkation we were loaded on to a train where I immediately fell asleep. When I awoke the train was at Reading. My journey did not end here though and I was one of the last to leave the train at Leominster. Both here and at Dover we’d been kindly received by the women of the W.R.V.S. who served us with tea and sandwiches.

After a couple of week’s recovery I was allowed a few days leave but on returning to my home in Canning Town I discovered it razed to the ground by bombing.

I was then ordered to Adderley Hall in Cheshire to open a signals office and from here I eventually returned to Catterick before being posted to North Africa. We shipped from a Scottish port on board the SS Llangibby Castle bound for Port Said. Unfortunately due to repairs to the ships screw prior to sailing we were unable to maintain speed and could not keep up with the main convoy. We were left behind with our only means of defence being a Lewis gun mounted on the bridge roof. After a few days we did eventually regain contact with the convoy and our warship escort, which was encouraging.

Whilst in North Africa we were rationed to only 1 pint of water a day. This was not only for drinking but also all our washing, etc. We found that by pooling our resources we could manage to complete essential personal hygiene and even wash part of our kit.

We moved to Benghazi with Rommel’s desert forces continually pressing us. Under attack the driver of our signals lorry jumped from the cab. Luckily I was able to take over. Leaving the vehicle in gear I shouted to my comrades in the back to leap clear before doing the same myself. We all watched astounded as the truck was blown up before our eyes having received a direct hit from an enemy shell. We all managed to remain undetected until later that evening we were spotted by a German motorcycle patrol. These fired over our heads and ordered us to follow.

Following our capture we were held in trenches for 2 weeks before eventually being put on board a truck. As it had been raining we managed to drink a few drops of moisture from the canvas roof.

We were held in a guarded compound in Benghazi and after a time a couple of my comrades and I were moved to a small pill-box on the beach. That evening we were loaded onto a small boat and were astonished to be taken to an Italian submarine. We spent 5 terrifying days on board, sometimes with the echoes of allied depth charges ringing in our ears, before disembarking in Southern Italy.

Strangely here we met up with the survivors of a British submarine the Tempest that had been sunk by enemy naval forces. I spent the remainder of the war as a prisoner of war in a camp outside Bari but that, of course, is the beginning of another story which was to last for three and a half years before release.

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