大象传媒

The Brickfields Story or The Lost Platoon

A rearguard action by Platoon of 鈥楧鈥� Coy. 1/6th Battn. East Surrey Regt. At the Brickfields near Nieuport. May 1940

As witnessed by M E Coyle who was a Section Leader at the time

My story begins on a day in May 1940 when we took over front line trenches from another infantry unit and like them our orders were to hold up the German advance. We didn鈥檛 take too much notice of the German spotter plane flying forwards and back overhead but we guessed that the pilot was watching us. Later on an occasional shell would land either in front of our trench or behind it. What we didn鈥檛 realise them was that these were mortar shells being fired as rangers and being directed onto our position by the spotter plane in preparation for the box barrage to come later.

Our Platoon Commander and his runner had dug themselves a slit trench halfway between us and the Coy HQ that was set up in an old farmhouse. Their position was very exposed, just a few shrubs for cover. In retrospect it was like sitting out in the open. The plan in those days was the same as that used in the first world war, i.e. the Pln Comdr. Would send his runner to Coy HQ with messages etc and the Coy Comdr. In return would send his runner back to the Pln Comdr. With orders or whatever. Unfortunately for us the enemy had long since abandoned such thinking and rightly so, what a waste of time.

As soon as it got dusk the Germans, having prepared the ground, opened up on us with heavy mortars, machine guns and anything else they could find, they kept up this prolonged attack until after midnight. An exploding mortar on the parapet above me smothered me with sandbags and stopped my watch at the same time. We were able to keep firing bak at them because their bullets, which included a lot of tracer, were just high enough to allow us to fire through slits in the sandbags. A couple of the lads had narrow squeaks, one had the magazxine shot off his Bren gun right beside his ear, another had a bullet go through the helmet just above the rim, it came out through the top. Had it gone the other way he would not have been alive to joke about it later.

Finally, the attack ceased and soon it was dawn. We then started looking around, the ground behind the trench was pockmarked with shell holes and there were several unexploded shells lying around as well. We had a lad by the name of Carrol, we called him Christmas, and as he walked about in a daze he tripped over one of those shells. Realising the danger he was in he froze like a statue, he couldn鈥檛 move. He called me in the usual way of: 鈥淗i Corp鈥�. I was then a Lance Corporal, one stripe, and that gave me a little authority. Anyway I went over and pulled him away and warned him about his careless habits. Had he touched the nose cone we would both have been killed instantly. Another lad went over to the neighbouring trench where he could hear laughter and talking, he soon came running to tell me that the trench was occupied by Germans. I then found our first casualty, a young Welsh lad who had unfortunately wandered out of his trench. Next I found our Pln. Comdr. and his runner both dead. They had all been killed by mortars. We then discovered that the Coy. HQ in the old farmhouse had been evacuated, just our Pln left, all the others had gone. What happened?

I found out what had happened some 47 years latelr when I contacted thorugh the DVA Journal, and then met the man who was the Coy Commander鈥檚 runner that night. He told me that during the attack he was wounded and taken to a Field Ambulance Station, so with him wounded nad our Pln runner killed there was no one totell us that an order had been received to withdraw. With no word one way or the other the Coy Commdr assumed that we had all been killed. Thus was the view expressed to me later by a medical orderly who was present that night, no other attempt was made apparently to contact us.

After the discovery next morning of the abandoned HQ the obvious thing to do was to get out fast and this we did, also, it seemed we were practically surrounded. Our getaway was helped considerably because there was a very heavy mist that morning; this combined with the smoke from the recently exploding shells, reduced visibility to a few yards. As we trudged along wearily our one thought was to keep ahead of the advancing Germans, we knew they were never far behind. Weariness through lack of sleep began to set in, and the lack of food and drink didn鈥檛 help either. The old Belgian farmhouses, which we passed, were empty too and so were their larders.

Without maps or any other form of guidance we were completely lost; still we plodded on wearily, never a friendly face in sight. Towards evening we came across one of Belgium鈥檚 famous canals, we called it the Albert Canal that being the only name we could think of. As we reached the bank, on one side we saw two officers on the other side, one British and one Belgian, who because we came up upon them suddenly drew their revolvers to shoot us. As we should not have been there they, in confusion, thought we were Germans and for a moment things looked ugly. Another problem now confronted us, how to get across the canal. Only one of our party could swim so the British Officer arranged for someone to ferry us across in a boat, there was one in use on the other side. The plan was for us to pile all our belongings bar vest and pants, on the boat, this we did hurriedly, rifles, bren guns, uniforms etc. I and a few others tied our boot laces together and hung the boots round our necks before sliding into the water to get hold of the boat. This was probably the most sensible thing we did as we soon found out.

Scarcely had we reached the other side of the canal when the cry went up: 鈥榬un for it lads, Jerry鈥檚 here鈥�. We soon forgot our tiredness as we raced up an open field to safety. As for the boat with our belongings, that was scuttled to prevent the Germans getting hold of anything. For some of us there was a crumb of comfort in having our own boots. We were given a good meal, the first for about 36 hours, by kindly cooks of the Royal West Sussex Regt. the unit which had rescued us. For that we were extremely grateful. As there was no battledress uniforms available we were issued with Belgian Army Uniforms complete with funny hats, this again nearly proved our undoing. As we marched, or tried to, through some nameless town, a few hefty ladies mistook us for Germans and to the accompaniment of shaking fists and shouts of Bosch Prisonair, we plodded on, surviving yet again.

After the unsavoury events of those memorable days we were shuffled about from place to place, having at last caught up with our own Company, eventually we were ordered to pull back to Dunkirk. We reached those famous beaches via La Panne and Braedunes towards the end of May. We were lucky enough to be taken off by the destroyer 鈥榃hitshed鈥� at 2.45 am on Sunday 2 June 1940. For that, I and thousands like me will always be grateful to the Navy.

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