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I was ordered to get my kit and take my lorry to a village about 25 miles away, I forget the name, where I would find a chateau with an RAF sergeant and two men guarding a safe. I was told it must be brought back at all costs far more important than the men's welfare. So off I went, smoking a cigarette and thinking this is easier than trench digging. There didn't seem to be any hostile activity and I was singing away to myself when round a bend I had to swerve to avoid crashing into two motor cycles and side-cars travelling fast. Suddenly my heart was in my mouth as I realised they were Germans. They couldn't have recognised my vehicle but they certainly stopped me singing. I spotted the village sign and seeing waving from a large house realised this was likely to be the chateau. The sergeant was so relieved to see me and urged us all to "work fast, the Germans are about". I explained how true this was from my recent experience. We heaved the safe onto the back of the lorry, where the two airmen joined it and the sergeant climbed in the cab with me. I decided to try another way back now as we could hear small arms fire. Once I was driving it was too noisy to hear much, but the two airmen in the back said one hell of a racket was going on.
We arrived back unscathed to my starting point; somewhere on the French-Belgian border, in the Dunkirk area, but miles inland. The trenches now complete but empty and it looked like they had been severely pounded by aircraft; after a discussion we decided to press on. There were no maps and few signposts, so we kept moving south and west, avoiding Paris, trying to work it out for ourselves. We came across more abandoned booty; an RAF kit bag lying by the road which I cut open with my jack knife and found in a tunic pocket the diary of a Gloucester seed merchant and inside the diary a one pound note. The surprising sight of a packet of Weetabix was welcome too. Another night, another wood and getting progressively hungrier; at least I usually managed to find fresh water. Later we picked up more stragglers including an army Sergeant and two soldiers who looked all in. One was wounded so we did our best to patch him up and gave him a slug of rum; he revived a little later on. Off we moved again stopping and sleeping where we could. I remember early one morning a French man parked his bicycle and, not observing us, pushed through a hedge, perhaps to relieve himself. Whatever, the relief was ours, as we pinched his fresh French bread from his basket and made off like a shot. On we went hoping that our progress was both towards the coast and away from the Germans. Long ago, it seemed, we had separated from the main retreating force and were largely left alone apart from the occasional almost half-hearted strafing. Whatever it is as you get near the coast; smells; gulls; skyline changes; we believed we were close to the sea - both a potential saviour and a source of danger.
We spotted armed people on a wooded cliff top and since they were aiming at us, approached with caution. This was I think in the Brest peninsula having taken us about six weeks in a highly stressed journey. We were very relieved to find they were a mixture of British army and airforce. We told them we had a safe full of money and secret stuff and were under orders to stop it falling into German hands.

Someone suggested we push it over the cliff, but the sergeant and I said together β€œno” we have been carrying this blasted safe around for days and will do our best to get it back as ordered. They told us there was a small coastal boat down below the cliff though it was a long, steep and very narrow path down which to get a lorry. Well I thought here goes, and on my own went sliding down the cliff, a very dicey trip but successfully reached the shore. The remaining men followed on foot and jointly we heaved the safe on board. Our heroic lorry had no more use to us and the parting view I had was of a little Frenchman trying to manoeuvre it across the beach. It had been a very good friend to me; to us all.

Once we started out to sea, I could do no more and the efforts of the last few weeks took their toll and I dozed; tired, hungry, thirsty and dirty, but heading for home so I didn't mind a bit. We reached Plymouth winding our way by chugging in and out of the large ships without the pilots or escorts right to the inner harbour. The Germans had not bombed us and it was a good feeling to be home. The wounded were taken off first, then the army collected their soldiers leaving about 38 airmen on the dockside. I looked down at the safe on the deck and hoped the contents were worth the effort. No organised reception for us RAF types, so we just walked up the road. In true wartime spirit, women came from their houses with smiles and very welcome tea and sandwiches. I had a lovely big pudding basin full of the best tea ever. It was the end of June or early July 1940 when I returned to England.

After returning from France we were directed to the Plymouth railway station and onto a railway carriage where we all collapsed into sleep. We woke next morning about six to find ourselves in a siding just outside Yatesbury, Wilts, and a double decker bus standing by to take us onward. No doubt we looked a sorry sight; bedraggled and unshaven in dirty and tattered slept-in clothes. I had lost my tunic top but those men rescued from the sea were worse. When we arrived at the guard house the police and officers had forty fits at our appearance. We were not welcomed, just herded into a couple of huts well away from the regular occupants. At last we were able to wash and shave with the promise of some breakfast to follow.

Eventually we were shepherded to the airmen's mess hall but still segregated from everyone else. It was extremely unpleasant to be cast as at fault for arriving back 'late' despite all our efforts and the fear and deprivation. Many had lost everything including their eating utensils, but even porridge can be eaten with fingers when as hungry as we were, and we had not eaten properly in days. Then back to the huts, and two hours later the order to assemble on the square and take all our equipment. Everything, except our clothes, was taken off us including rifles, daggers, ammunition and grenades. An officer then stood on the back of a vehicle and said in a sarcastic way what a shower we were and it seemed a waste of effort bringing us back. An all too common example of the leadership quality of officers at this time. Had it have been a joke it was in the worst taste. Certainly a smart move to take away our weapons before launching into this speech as I suspect his war would have been a short one. This was a blow to our morale.

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