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One of the many sessions organised by Thanet Libraries and UK-Online took place at the ‘GAP’ community centre in Broadstairs. Mrs. Wampach came in with the work of her late husband C. R. Wampach — Royal Engineers. He made the army his career and by the time the army decided he was of retirement age he had reached the rank of Major. In fact — had he not lied about his age when he joined — he could have stayed in the forces for a further 3 years. The account of his career is called ‘The Memoirs of a Sapper’ and this is one of those memories.

Memoirs of a Sapper — Dunkirk!

An army in retreat is not a pleasant spectacle, none more so than the British Army in May 1940. Several of the units remained intact there were thousands of us who had been separated from ours so we joined up with any unit we could find. The greatest problem was communication. Most of us did not know where we were going or what we were supposed to do. The German Air Force dropped leaflets with maps showing where we were and where they were. It was obvious we were being surrounded and cut off — we used the leaflets as toilet paper. Bombs are an excellent laxative!
The long march to the coast was a nightmare! Towns were in ruins and burning, civilians lying dead in the streets, roads packed with refugees and all the while we were under constant air attack. In spite of this we managed to wash, shave, obtain rations and get some sleep. We were all incredibly tired but it is amazing what can be tolerated when needs must. We were fortunate that the weather was wonderful. I always remember taking a break in a field not far from Dunkirk. We lay down totally exhausted, near to despair but in the distance we could hear the skirl of the pipes. The Black Watch Pipers came marching along the road- heads held high and erect. The effect this had on all of us was remarkable. It seemed to give us all an injection of morale and we rose as one man and followed the pipers on the way to the beach. Eventually we found ourselves with thousands of others at Malo-les Bains, a seaside resort near Dunkirk. Here there was some semblance of order with officers trying to re-organise units.
The British character and humour revealed itself in many ways. I remember a cockney grovelling with me in the sand during a particularly nasty strafing. He looked up into the sky and said “And to think I paid sixpence to see the bleeding Hendon Air Display!” Right beside us there were the men of a famous regiment were blancoeing their equipment, polishing their boots. Their officers, sitting in deck chairs, were being served tea by an orderly. They were reading papers and appearing to be oblivious while all hell broke loose around them. Finally they marched off to the boats upholding the tradition of their famous regiment — heads erect, backs straight with a show of discipline and defiance which boosted our morale and, even there in the sands, I felt proud to be British.
Eventually our turn came. We were instructed by the beach master to move into the sea and embark into the small boats which would ferry us out to the larger ships. I was taken on to the ‘Brighton Belle’ — an old paddle steamer, and I am ever grateful to the bearded naval rating who pulled me on to the deck. One pompous officer, trying to bring his golf clubs aboard was also assisted by the bearded rating. It was a sight to see the dismay on the officers face when said rating dispatched the golf clubs to the sea!
We headed for home. There was nothing more joyous than to see the sight of the White Cliffs of Dover and the prospect of being amongst our own people again. Tired and exhausted we were by no means beaten — our morale was high and although we realised that we had been badly mauled by the finest fighting machine that man had ever produced, most of us wanted the opportunity for a rematch. We felt that, man for man, we were as good as any German. I was 18 years old.

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