大象传媒

Edward L. Jouault 1913 -1976
WW II account

Normandy June 1940. The news from the front had been progressively more disastrous. Since the German breakthrough at Seden they had advanced in leaps and bounds. Dunkirk was practically over and though we had succeeded in evacuating the greater part of the B.E.F. nothing could disguise the fact that we had taken an awful thrashing. The French forces had been taken over by General Wegand and a halfhearted attempt was being made to hold up the German advance on the line of the Seine. An attempt that was doomed before it started. British were the 51 st Highland Division and the 1 st Armoured Division, I was attached to
The only fighting forces left to them through the Field Security Police (later on to be known as the Intelligence Corps). I was stationed at Rouen and attached to the French B.C.R (Bureau Centrale de Reseignments Militares) in the rank of Sergeant. My job had proved quite interesting and I had spent all my time checking rumours of enemy agents here there and everywhere. Nine times out of ten the cases I had been engaged upon proved to be nothing other than wild goose chases. However now and then they had proved to be worthwhile and I could find something that the French Authorities could act upon. Had the 鈥減honey war鈥� continued I would have been quite contented to carry on.
In the last few weeks鈥� things had become so bad that I had become extremely dissatisfied with the job and longed to be of some service and take a more active part in fighting the enemy. My chances to do so occurred on June 6th when on reporting back to my section officer (Lieut. Bogis Rolfe), I later learned that a Sergeant Issac had been cut off by the rapid advance of the German Armour and it was feared that he would be taken prisoner. Issac was engaged in the same work as myself and was known to me personally. He was a very likeable chap and had been a Fleet Street reporter before the war. Unfortunately he had never been able to master a motorcycle, which we were equipped with, and as a result he was to all intents and purposes immobile, and furthermore we did not give him much chances for survival if he had been taken prisoner, first of all because of the nature of his work and secondly, and in my opinion of equal importance, because he was a Jew. I have never cared one way or the other about Jews, but in this case I knew and admired Issac because he was quite incapable of concealing the fact and would probably go out of his way to impress the Germans that he was a Jew. Further more he was past Military age (he was then about 36) and he had volunteered for the forces because he considered it to be his duty particularly on account of his race. For this reason I particularly admired him and wished to help him if I could.
I had a long discussion with Lieut. Bogis Rolfe and persuaded him to, let me try to get to Forges Les Eaux, which was the last place we had heard from Issac, and to bring him back with me. I first had to obtain permission to proceed from Brigade Headquarters. As the position around Forges Les Eaux was very hazy and the whole position was rather fluid I felt that I had a reasonable chance of getting him out in the confusion that reigned at the time. I set out from Brigade H.Q. at 10.00 am.
Brigade H.Q. was situated near Totes about 20 miles north of Rouen. It was a lovely day and after clearing the outskirts of Rouen, and one or two roadblocks, I found the road absolutely deserted except for the occasional farm cart carrying a few refugees. At Brigade H.Q. I was shown into the map room and having stated my mission and asked for permission to proceed. They seemed a bit in the dark as to what exactly was happening. First of all the Brigadier said that Forges Les Eaux was not occupied and later on he said it was. Judging that my guess was as good as theirs I promised to take things carefully and to report back to them what actually was the position at Forges Les Eaux, I left at about 11.00 am.
I returned upon the road that I had come by till I arrived at Sierville then I branched east towards Buchy and Forges Les Eaux. When I passed Cailly I noticed that the road was absolutely deserted. I stopped my motorcycle and listened to see if I could hear any sounds of firing but was met with a dead silence. I started off again, and arrived at Buchy at about 11.30 am. The village was absolutely deserted. There were various marks of tracked vehicles criss crossing each other but I had no means of knowing when they had been made or whether they were German or Allied vehicles. A house down the street was burning fiercely. Once again I could hear no sounds of firing, the only sound was the crackling of the burning house. I tried one or two of the doors but they were locked or the house was absolutely deserted. I shouted but received no reply. By this time I had become very uneasy. This was not at all what I had imagined. The silence around me was positively eerie. The sun blazed down on the warm countryside and everything at first seemed peaceful. I had an awful feeling that it wasn鈥檛. I nearly turned back at that moment but I thought how ridiculous I would look and feel if I returned to H.Q. and reported that I had seen absolutely nothing. So mounted on my motor cycle and set off on the last leg of my journey, impelled by the thought of Issac, of the enemy and also hypnotised by the silence around me.
At about noon I entered Forges Les Eaux. Again the strange silence. Several houses were ablaze and I could see, by the bullet marks spattered on the houses and the pockmarks on the road signs, that there had been some sort of fighting. The thought entered me that by some sort of miracle we had driven the Germans back. That would explain top a certain extent why I had met no one at all on the road for the last 15 miles or so.
Issac鈥檚 billet was empty. Gear of all kinds was scattered about indicating that Issac and whoever else had been there had left in a hurry, I decided that as Issac had to all intents and purposes left the best thing I could do was to follow suit.
I took the road leading south to Argueil hoping that I might gain some information, which would be of use to H.Q. I still thought it a possibility that we or the French, had managed to drive the Germans back, I was therefore not greatly surprised when I saw at the crossroads 1,000 yards ahead of me what appeared to be a tank. Not unduly alarmed I stopped my motorcycle and gazed at it, trying to make out if it was German vehicle or one of ours. Suddenly I found myself the centre of a volley of machine gun bullets which sang and whined around me striking the motorcycle between my knees puncturing the front tyre and the perforating the petrol tank. In a split second I leapt of my bike and into a shallow ditch by the side of the road. The bullets continued to rain about me as they ricocheted of the road I had never been under fire before and was absolutely petrified. I was certain my number was up and all I can recollect of those moments was the thoughts I had of my mother. For a few moments I became a frightened child. The firing stopped and I lay there panting with fear, suddenly the noise of rumbling tracks made me come to my senses. I peered up and realised that the tank was heading down the road towards me and that if I remained in my present position I would be either killed or taken prisoner. I scrambled to my feet and in a crouching position ran for dear life towards a thicket about a hundred yards down the road in the direction of Forges Les Eaux. The tank immediately opened fire and once more I heard bullets whistling around my ears. I dodged and wove expecting any moment to feel the shock of bullets tearing into my body. By some sort of miracle I reached the thicket and tore into it heedless of the brambles and twigs. At last I stumbled over a log lying in the undergrowth and fell flat on my face.
I lay there for several minutes cowering in the shelter of the log, my breath coming in great big sobs. It was then that I felt a warm stickiness around my left knee. On looking down I saw that the leg of my trousers was torn and soaked in blood. Pulling out my field dressing I bandaged my wound, which at first looked horribly bloody but eventually proved to be only superficial. It was about three inches long and about a quarter of an inch deep. It had bled profusely soaking my trouser leg from knee to ankle. Judging from the tear in my trousers it must have occurred when I was on my motorcycle and had first come under fire, strangely enough I had not felt anything when the bullet had hit me.
I had got my breath back and slowly my fear was being driven from me by a mounting sense of anger. Anger at my own cowardice that had made me grovel in the ditch like a frightened child then made me run like a scared rabbit. Anger against those who had made me behave in such a manner and had nearly bowled me over for good. I peered over the log and could make out the tank, now about forty yards off, the turret hatch open and a German peering at the thicket through his binoculars. I slipped my rifle from my shoulder, released the safety catch, set the back sight and worked a round into the breach. Slowly I drew a bead on the German, held my breath and squeezed the trigger. The rifle cracked, I reloaded and fired again and again until the magazine was empty. Only then did I realise that my ammunition lay in the pouches, which I had strapped, to the carrier of my motorcycle.
I do not know to this day whether I hit the German or not. But I must have come pretty near to it for after the first shot he seemed to fall into the tank and the turret doors remained open for quite a while afterward. However the crew were not long in showing their reaction. They began to shell the thicket and after firing about five rounds which all fell well to my rear, they stopped firing. After a few minutes, in which the tank stood quite still and I peered back at them, I suddenly heard a rumbling coming from Forges Les Eaux. As I could not see what was coming up behind me I just lay there and waited, hoping rather forlornly, that it might be one of ours. The rumbling eventually stopped fifty yards to my rear. Then suddenly machine gun fire opened up on me from that quarter. There was nothing I could do except lie as close to my log as possible and wait for the end.
Later on I heard shouts, then rustling in the undergrowth. I suddenly saw a German about ten yards away and shouting 鈥淜ammerad鈥� I stood up. I remember shutting my eyes expecting any moment to be shot then I slowly opened them to see three Germans grinning in front of me. One of them took my rifle and swinging it by the butt smashed it against the log. They then ordered me out into the road and onto a tank.
I looked in the direction of Forges Les Eaux and was amazed to see a long column of tanks, troop carriers and lorries pouring out of it. Though I did not realise it at the time I had bumped into Rommel鈥檚 7th Panzer Division.
We moved off taking a side road, which led us through Rouvray and Bosc. I was on one of the leading tanks, the rest of the Division followed on behind us. At one point the gentle slopes of the countryside revealed about two hundred vehicles of all types. I had the opportunity to inspect them carefully, to note the number and type of each tank and the armament. All this I was able to report on later. I should like to add, at this stage in my story, that I noticed that several of the heavy tanks carried what appeared to be a four-inch gun (75mm). And that it was this type of tank that we were to meet again in North Africa the following year. It was said at the time of the first tank battles with the Africa Corps that they carried this type of gun for the first time. This was not so as I quite definitely included them in my report which eventually made its way to Divisional H.Q. About 1.30 pm we stopped for a short while and a half-track vehicle drew up alongside. I could see that it contained high-ranking officers. I was ordered off the tank. I saluted and was then asked first in German then in French, (which I speak fluently), what Division I had been acting as 鈥渟cout鈥� for. I replied the first Armoured Division and I added that they were spread out in great strength covering Rouen, though I knew there were practically no troops there at all. The General then asked me in French if my leg was all right and if I wanted anything. I replied that I would like a drink. At a signal from him I was handed a water bottle, which I after discovered contained lemonade and was told that I could keep it. The General said to me 鈥渢he war is over for you, France is finished and England will very soon want peace鈥� I then saluted and they drove away. Years later I realised that this was the famous Rommel. I shall always remember him as a kind and chivalrous man.
I had been picked up by the Germans at about 12.30 pm. And we had advanced about ten miles without encountering a living soul. At about 2.30 pm we were halted by gunfire and machine gunfire at a spot near Heronchelle. But it was soon overcome. I must admit I was glad as during the engagement I was huddled behind the turret of the tank upon which I was riding and scared stiff that at any moment a hit would be registered on it and me. I could not imagine a worse way to die than to be killed by our own fire.
After the action, which lasted only about five minutes, we drove up to the point from which it had been coming and found several dead and wounded French soldiers. I was allowed off my tank and told I was to remain there with a German orderly and that we were to be picked up very shortly by the troops following behind. I made myself as useful as I could by dragging the wounded out of the sun and placed something beneath their heads to act as a pillow. Some of their wounds were ghastly and I felt sick. A German Doctor who stopped to dress the wounds before leaving again, looked up at me and shaking his head over one case that was particularly horrible said, 鈥渄as krieg is dum鈥� (war is crazy). Finally I was left with the German orderly. I searched for some water but could only find three bottles of red wine which the German insisted on keeping for himself indicating that all the French had abdominal wounds I was not to give them any. His only interest seemed to be in getting the bottles open. In trying to break of the neck of the first bottle (as he had no corkscrew) he smashed it completely. I then persuaded him to let me have a try with the second bottle while he tried to push the cork of the third bottle down inside it with his thumb. While he was thus engaged I lifted the second bottle and brought it down with all my strength on his head. H e slumped down unconscious. I took the last bottle of wine, pushed the cork down and gave it to the French soldiers warning them only to take sips from it. After reassuring them that I would endeavour to find some of our own troops to fetch them. I took the road to Martainville, determined to escape, as the thought of spending the next few years, if not the whole of my life, as a prisoner of war was an anathema to me.
The first place I came to was a farm house which seemed to be deserted on going to the stable the first thing I saw was an old pair of corduroy trousers and a sheepskin coat. I hastily got rid of my torn and blood soaked trousers and of my battle dress jacket and proceeded down the road. It must have been about 4 pm when I heard once more the familiar sound of tanks rumbling along behind me. There was no sort of cover of any sort on this particular stretch of road so I shambled along trying to look as much like a peasant as I could. When the foremost tank drew up abreast with me it stopped and a German soldier got of and searched me. Unfortunately I still had my identity discs and pay book and these he soon found. Shouting at me and saying something about 鈥淓nglisch soldat鈥� he ordered me up onto the tank and we drove off. Arriving very shortly at a village called Ste. Aignan, I was ordered down and herded with about 100 British soldiers.
I talked with several of these men. None of them had taken part in any fighting but had been cut of from their own units and had simply been stragglers that had been picked up by the Germans in much the same way as I had. Their morale was pretty low and when I spoke to one or two of them about escaping, they took no notice or simply told me that I was 鈥渄aft鈥�.
We were allowed to cross the street in small parties of about six to buy cigarettes from the village store. I went across and managed to buy a beret, and as they had no shirts, woman鈥檚 white flannel nightgown. With these stuffed beneath my coat I returned to the bulk of prisoners. I hid myself as well as I could behind several standing men and in a sitting position I managed to change my shirt for the nightgown. I then handed my old shirt, and my pay book, and identity disc to a Sergeant in the Engineers and asked him to keep them hidden for me. I put on the beret and awaited the results.
About an hour later we were ordered one by one before a German I.O. (intelligence officer). When my turn came he asked me in English what unit I belonged to. I replied in French that I was a civilian, that I came from Buchy and that I was a farm labourer. He then asked what I was doing amongst the prisoners of war. I explained to him that I had been picked up on the road by the Germans and brought here. I did not know why. After saying to a German N.C.O. that they had explicit instructions not to interfere with civilians, he told me to go home.
I left the village and proceeded in the direction of Buchy but once clear I left the road and skirted the village crossing the main road between Buchy and Vascoeuil and turned southward. I did not dare risk the open road again and kept on in a southward direction until darkness fell. I then took to the road again. The country was heavily wooded and I guessed that I must be in the Bois De Lyons. Fortunately I knew the area very well having made myself familiar with it in the previous months. About midnight I came across the village of Charleval. It was at this point that I started to run into refugees. I joined them and we reached Les Andelys in the early hours of the morning. A heavy air raid was taking place and dead bodies lay at the side of the road. I was dead tired and my knee had stiffened up. I felt something clinging to my feet in the dark and on reaching down I found the entrails of a horse entwined around my ankles. All hell seemed to be let loose. The cries of the horses, the screaming of the refugees the crash of bombs bursting on the road and amongst the houses. But I was so tired that I kept walking as though I was sleep walking through a nightmare. I dare not stop because I knew if I did so I would fall asleep, bombs or no bombs. We could not cross at Les Andelys so we pushed on southward.
As dawn broke I became aware that a stream of refugees had joined us. I managed to cling to the back of a cart and for the first time in my life I swear that I was walking yet at the same time I was asleep. In the end I must have collapsed for the next thing I knew I was being shaken very roughly. I awoke to find myself lying on top of a cart being shaken by an extremely irate French officer. We had reached Vernon and the bridge over the Seine.
I was dragged from the cart, searched then put up against a wall to be shot as a 鈥渇ifth columnist鈥�. Although I speak French fluently I do so with a hint of a Belgium accent. This coupled with the fact that I had no identity papers of any sort, was considered enough to class me as a German fifth columnist. I told the Frenchman again and again that I was British. Eventually I was reduced to tears of exasperation and bitterness. After all I had been through this was how it was to end.
At last I persuaded the Frenchman to allow me respite. He had told me that there were some British tanks in the area and if one of them showed up I would be allowed to talk to a British officer. Shortly after a British tank appeared and I was allowed to speak to an officer and explain my predicament. He in turn sent me under a French guard to a British Intelligence officer and there I had no difficulty in making myself known and was informed that my unit under Lieut. Bogis-Rolfe was at Pacy eight miles away. He could offer no transport so I had to hobble off to Pacy, which I reached in about three hours.
When I finally crawled back into Pacy and found Lieut. Bogis-Rolfe I told him all that had happened to me. I had been posted as missing and they all thought that I had been taken prisoner, as shortly after I had left, it had been announced that the Germans had taken Forges Les Eaux. No news had been heard from Issac. Weeks later he succeeded in joining up with us again in England. Apparently he had left Forges les Eaux on an old bicycle and eventually found his way back to our lines. I slept for about twelve hours and then typed my report, which was sent to Divisional H.Q.
Weeks later when lying in hospital up in Stirling, Scotland I learnt that I had been awarded the Military Medal which I received later from the hands of George VI at Buckingham Palace.

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