大象传媒

C A L A I S

This story was written by my late Uncle Frank Penver who passed away at the age of 83 in 2001 In his own words he tells of his Dunkirk expereance. It was sent to me by his son to be displayed here at this site.
Although 60 years have elapsed, the loan by Rex of a book on Calais has awakened memories and the feeling that I ought to commit to paper my own very brief experiences for family posterity. I was in the R.A.S.C. with the rank and trade of Driver this was probably due to the fact that on joining I said I could drive. In 1939 not everyone could. The unit was a Birmingham territorial unit to which I was sent as a make-weight. When one considers that they all had their vehicle allocations (which were commandeered bakers vans and coal lorries), the only occupations left were latrine duties or spud bashing. I would have been permanently on cookhouse fatigues had they not discovered that I could type and spell reasonably well. The organisation never catered for Company Office staff so this is what I became while the unit was stationary but when it became mobile I was Platoon Defence which meant acquiring the skills of Bren gunner against aircraft while on the move and antitank gunner (Boys) when static. I had not fired either of these weapons until a week before 10th May when we all moved up into Belgium.

Our job as a divisional petrol coy, was to bring petrol in 4gal disposable tins up to the infantry at a preordained map reference. We had done about 3 such deliveries and on the last such, to Droogenbosch, the infantry were just not there. After a 2 hour wait we were surprised by a number of German tanks. I went into the ditch with the Boys and gave the leading tank a clip of five aiming at the turret bearing. They halted but my fire seemed not to have had effect but did allow our petrol lorries to escape with the Bren truck waiting for me. The leading tank spotted me and opened up with his machine gun. In a hail of bullets which missed me but peppered the back of the Bren truck, I flung the Boys in and clung to the tailboard as the truck took off after the petrol trucks.

Thoroughly frightened, after 2 miles we encountered some more tanks coming up the road. With tanks behind and before we dismounted and held up our hands to surrender. The lid on the leading tank was thrown back, a head popped out and a sarcastic voice asked us what the bloody hell we thought we were doing.
We filled up their tanks and tried to return to our unit who weren't where we had left them. We carried on westward and for quite a distance it was like driving through a deserted landscape, no troops, no civilians and no traffic apart from our 2 petrol lorries. We had no food and couldn't find any. I found a bottle of rum in a deserted estaminet and we found some water in a toilet cistern. We finally ran into a RAF headquarters at I think St.Pol. They too were packing up and as much in the dark as we were, but they did give us a sandwich and some tea, the last food or drink we had in France. We carried on the way and came upon a deserted NAAFI depot. There was no food but there were at least 5 crates of cigarettes (tins of 50) one of which we liberated,(the word hadn't been invented then) there was just room on the Bren truck. We carried on westwards and decided to see if our unit had returned to our old billets at Ballieul. No sign so we carried on in the hope of finding some Army people and get some information.

In retrospect it is now obvious that we were travelling too far to the south for our army and too far to the north for the French army. The gap between was packed solid with refugees and it was almost impossible to move. The idea was to go north to Cherbourg but our blokes weren't there either. While we were there at the docks trying to get information as to where was the British Army a hospital train pulled in full of wounded on which I found the best way of getting rid of most of the crate of cigarettes. I now wonder if any of the blokes remembered us poor devils! but they were grateful They probably thought we were official.

Still on our quest we decided to try for Calais. We found it being heavily shelled with one landing at least every second. A number, I believe 4, 10ton Albion lorries loaded with supplies were offloaded at the docks and a number, myself included, of drivers were commandeered to drive them to Dunkirk where we now knew the British Army were, my load was biscuits and jam. Starving hungry there was no time to sample. At Gravelines we found Jerry had crossed the road and being the lead vehicle, I took a bullet in the engine. I knew I couldn't stop for repair so I put a couple through the tank with my rifle and chucked a match in the puddle. I wished they had left me my Boys. The others were able to turn and I hitched a lift back to Calais. The petrol lorries were offloaded and went I know not where and after two days of that bombardment I could not care. Some British troops were about but no sign of our Company. I was left with the Bren and Boys to defend the dump. The shelling was incessant and then the infantry took over the Boys and the Bren their need being greater than mine and on the basis that RASC were supposedly non-combatant. So with just my rifle I was left to guard the dump.

They say that when a shell lands it buries itself for a distance and the shrapnel goes mainly backwards. I guess that is what saved my bacon. I never heard it coming, again they say you never do hear the one that hits you. A splinter gouged the front of my steel helmet and laid me out for 2hrs. It landed 2 yds away but riddled a French staff-car 10 yds away killing its two occupants taking the arm off one of them. The same shellhole was my shelter for the rest of my stay. I never saw my erstwhile colleagues until I was back in UK then I discovered that they had not deserted us on our petrol point. The retreat had been ordered and they had left, sending a DR (despatch rider) to inform us. He had been killed by a Stuka on his way -poor devil.

On 22 May a ship landed some tanks (I have since discovered they were 3rd Tank Regt). 2 miles down the St.Omer road they were shot to pieces. A lorry arrived back loaded with wounded but I don't remember seeing any tanks that escaped. There was a battery of French 75mm guns across the road when the German tanks arrived. These are the army elite, equivalent to our guards and they continued firing until they were overrun.

Eventually the Germans penetrated until I realised that we were either for the chop or prison camp. Small arms fire was now added to the racket but the shelling in my locality diminished, no doubt to avoid hitting their own blokes. I heard a voice call out from one of the houses- "That's it chaps -give the buggers what for". On the 24th a head poked over the shellhole with "If you blokes want to get back to UK, you had better get down to the docks". There the shelling was airburst shrapnel and the queue of blokes getting on the Kohistan was only joined by making a dash for it. Occasionally a bloke would drop and a quick examination decided whether he was dragged to one side or carried up the gangplank. One wounded bloke had lost his lower jaw and was screaming horribly. A CSM drew his revolver and shot him, I thought to quell any panic but since have felt the poor devil would not have wanted to live. They took our rifles off us and we went below decks where we herded together in trepidation mostly because we could not see anything. When we moved out of the harbour, the shelling changed back to HE and each burst was a loud Bong on the side.

At Dover they kept us on board for about an hour presumably while they made arrangements. Then we marched to the railway station through cheering crowds several deep who seemed to be expecting us, but then in the wait word must have got around that the first blokes were back from France. We were completely amazed and felt very much ashamed of ourselves, but then the debacle of Dunkirk was yet to come. At the station we were given a bun and a cup of nectar called tea. On our railway journey to Buller Barracks at Aldershot, the chaps took their boots and socks off for the first time in a fortnight and the competition for space at the windows to hang out our feet was quite intense.

Calais fell on the 26th. There has been speculation why Jerry bothered but he would not have gone in to the final assault on Dunkirk with a port open in his rear and he too need to regroup and bring up supplies. After all we had no food so he could not win any from us.

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