大象传媒

Warning: this entry contains strong language and is part of a much longer story.

6912361, A/Cpl R, Ruffle
1st Battalion, Rifle brigade

This article is about me, my thoughts, my impressions and my opinions.
You can take them how you like, but remember, this is the truth.

Calais and capture
I think it was Sunday the 26th of May. What time of the day it was, l just did not know, and I couldn't care less. There were about 50 of us, all from different units. We had not got a clue as to what we should do. It was so quiet - no gunfire, bombing, or rifle fire, no nothing. As far as we knew, the battle of Calais was over, and so we were left to our own devices. What gave us food for thought was the last order, and that was "Every man for himself." And where in the name of hell could we go? Nowhere! As I stood with my back to the sand dunes, I looked at the calm sea. I had been in France for a week and I had been rather busy during that time, like a lot of others. I had not eaten or had a drink of water during the whole week. And sleep - we didn't get much of that either. I can assure you I was browned off, fed up to the teeth, and I just could not care less!
I looked at the deserted sandy beach. The sun was lovely and warm and the sea like a mill pond. Less than a hundred yards away was a small motor van. How it got there I don't know and I don't care either. A little further on was a Spitfire, its tail was sticking up in the air and the engine was buried deep in the sand. Also, a cargo boat was well and truly beached about half a mile away. Further along the beach - and as I looked at it, I did not know it then, was the point of no return for me and hundreds like me. That was where we lost our freedom.
I was trying to think - which my brain-box was, at the time, quite incapable of doing - to comprehend what lay ahead. I was a first class zombie; you go like that when you have not had any grub or water for a long time. And we didn't know it, but we were to go a lot longer before we got any. The Germans would see to that as we soon bloody well found out!
Suddenly, I was brought to my senses when a officer who was with us (who didn't know much either) called us together and said "Well chaps, there is only one place we can head for, and that is, Dunkirk. It is about fifteen miles along the beach.鈥� And as I was not responsible for my actions, I asked him which way were we to go, as Jerry was all round us and that we had not been trained to walk on the water?! He replied 鈥淕o in that direction towards Dunkirk", and he started off towards the cargo boat. We followed him. So, like lambs led to the slaughter, we trudged our way over the sand dunes. If you think that we were enjoying the walk, take it from me, we were not. It would take a far better man than me to explain the terrible feeling of dismay and disillusion that was going through our weakened, tired bodies. It was 'bleeding hell', and we where heading for it. Yes, I mean it!
We were about fifty yards from the boat when a British officer with a German squaddie stopped us. The officer told us that we were to drop our arms as we were now Prisoners Of War. He told us that the Commanding Officer of the German forces did not want to kill British service men, who had fought a gallant fight, but on the other side of the boat, a German tank was in position and any soldier trying to pass would be shot. Also, the sand dunes beyond were mined and machine guns were in readiness to shoot also. What else could we do? We just decided the position was hopeless so we laid down our arms and followed the officer and German squaddie to where a compound had been made.
As we entered the lager, the first thing I looked for was water. This was laid on by the Jerries, and I am sure that I drank about a gallon of water to ease my thirst - a daft thing to do, but I was alright.
Then we were lined up and searched. Every thing was taken away from us; all that we had was what we stood up in. After that we were allowed to please ourselves. The first thing I wanted to do was to go for a 'tom-tit.' I looked around the compound and saw a group of chaps, all squatting along the length of a small fence so I joined them. You have no doubt heard that expression of 'sh*t a brick.' Its quite true, I know because I did! Feeling a bit more comfortable, I found myself a spot and lay down to have a kip and it did not take me long to doze off. It did not seem more than five minutes before I felt a slight nudge in my ribs, "Raus, raus! Alle Mann raus!" The Jerries were running around and trying to wake up the men, who were out like logs, but a few kicks here and there soon got the men on to their feet. Then the order was given to start matching.

The forced march
It was early evening, I well recall, as we passed through a small village - I think I saw the name St. Omer. There was a small church with a clock tower, and as I looked at it, the bell sounded was seven o'clock. We were now in the open country, the roads were cobbled and straight, not that at the time I was interested in the countryside! At ten o'clock we were still marching and, like all the other men I was beginning to wonder when we would have a rest. At twelve, we were still going, and we were still at it when dawn broke. But I did notice that as the sun came up, so our spirits began to rise. Still we straggled on, hoping that at sometime we would be given some grub. As we passed through a village, I left the column and knocked at a door. A young woman came to the door and I asked her for bread. She gave me such a funny look. She did not say a word and in her eves I saw pity and distress but she gave me a large slice of bread. I thanked her as best as I could and I walked away. I munched the bread as I strolled along, and I began to feel a bit better.
I had to force my body to keep on going. There was no sign of respite. At midday, we still kept going. When we asked the guards "How much farther to go?" they just said "One more mile." It was bloody long mile! So the hours passed, head down, it was a terrible job to keep going, having to force the legs to move. My body was so desperately tired and my eyes heavy from the lack of sleep. I just felt terrible, and the remainder of the column must have felt the same.
It was about eight o'clock in the evening, when we were led into a large field. There were machine guns in position, and we were told that we would stop here for the night. I noticed a lot of men crowded round a lorry I went over and saw it was a water wagon. I had a good drink, and then I looked for a nice spot to settle down. Finding a space was a bit more difficult than I expected, so I laid down between two men who were already out for the count. I shut my eyes and - oblivion. I knew no more.
When I awoke, the sun was shining, and for a while I wondered where I was - men were still sleeping the sleep of exhaustion. Then I saw that a queue of men were lined up for something or other. I got up and went to join them and my legs promptly folded under me. Picking myself up I staggered and joined the queue. It was the bread queue; the Jerries were giving out a loaf of bread to every six men, and it was my luck to get a loaf to share with five other men, which I did. I re-joined the end of the queue again and shared another loaf. It did not take me long to eat a slice of bread. I saved the other slice for later.
It was not long before we were once more rounded up and, like a load of cattle, were staggering along the road - to where? We passed through a town called then, as we got into the countryside I had a first-class view of the German heavy tanks that were rolling past us as if in a hurry to go and do battle somewhere. I had not realised how big and powerful these tanks were until I saw them at close quarters. I had only seen them from a distance during the battle of Calais. Then I thought of the terrific battle the men of Royal Tank Corps had put up. They were, in my opinion, brave men to take on these monsters in the tanks they had. They were out-gunned, out weighed and they didn't stand a chance. In 1931 I was on manoeuvres on Aldershot plains, and I well recall our position being attacked by tanks. All they reminded me of were farm tractors with guns on top. It was these tanks that were sent to do battle with the German armour. Our tanks were the same as I saw ten year before, they had not altered in any way - progress! I don't think the army, with the exception of the Bren gun, had altered since the Great War of 1914-1918, you know - the war to end all wars!
So I marched on. In our column there were a lot of Frenchmen. The Froggies, when the Germans took them, were allowed to keep all their equipment, their overcoats, packs and all their clothing, yet we had nothing except what we stood up in. As we marched through the villages, they were telling the people that we, the British, had let them down. As a result we were not welcome when we tried to get a bit of food off them. I am not for sure exactly when this took place but it was late in the afternoon, and we had halted in a copse for a rest. There was a group of Froggies lying down and I noticed one of them had taken his pack off. He was sitting with his back to the tree he was resting against, but what took my interest was the French bread that was sticking out of his pack. Without any thought I just got up and strolled past the tree. I bent down and pulled the roll from his pack and walked on. I then found a spot and proceeded smartly to eat my bread. I saved half of it for a bit later. Suddenly there was such a hullabaloo and much raising of voices, shouting and cussing. It was terrible. The Froggie was running around like a dog with a can tied to his tail. Some lousy b*stard of an Englander had purloined his bread! I mean who would do a thing like that? As one squaddie said to me later on, "Say mate they would have killed you if they had found out." I replied "Let them catch me first." I got away with it though!
We had arrived at Cambrai and we were settled in huge barracks. The Froggies had the barrack rooms and we had the open-air barrack square. Here we were given a handful of army biscuits but these were not like the British armour-plated biscuits 鈥� they were more like 'Melox' dog biscuits, and you could eat them.
I had been alone since we started to march but all the time I was on the lookout for my mate Willy Wilsher. When I saw a group of Rifle Brigaders, I asked about Willy and I was told, to my delight, that he was around somewhere. I wandered about, and lo and behold, I saw him! I walked up behind him. "Where in the name of hell have you been Willy?" He turned round and he looked at me; was he surprised! We hugged each other with pleasure and joy. "Bert I was told you had been killed and I have been worried as to how I could let Edna know. Gee but I am pleased to see you!鈥� So we were together again.
Being with Willy certainly cheered me up and we soon started to try and work out a plan to do a bit of scrounging for grub because the Jerries must have thought that we lived on fresh air! There was one thing I had noticed, and that was we always by-passed the big towns and we did not see very many French people. The roads were long and straight, and the countryside was flat and monotonous. There were signs that fighting had taken place in this area, as in the corner of one field I saw there were several graves, of British and German soldiers, with helmets placed on top of the crosses. I felt sad to think that these young men had given their lives. For what? Yet for all that, I could have been one of them.
There was some sort of order in the column now. We had been split up into smaller groups of about 200 men, and as I think back, the German guards did not bother us too much if we left the column to do a bit of scrounging for grub. I recall going with Willy into a small garden and finding a lovely crop of strawberries; we gorged ourselves as much as we could. They were great to eat and, as we were filling our pockets, what should come strutting out of a side building but a fat little chicken! As soon as I saw him he was doomed. I did not hesitate, but dived at him. The chick did not even have time to give a little squawk. I wrung its neck in two jiffies and we departed from that garden in next to no time! It was surprising how many chickens were being plucked along the column but the problem was, what chance had we of cooking it? As luck would have it, we pulled up for the night in a field and were able to light a small fire. Even though the chicken was very burned, it was eaten with delight.
By now I had lost all count of the days. We had been given a handful of French biscuits the night before and, for some reason the Jerries started us off very early on one particular day - it must have been at about 4 a.m. It was now getting towards 8 o'clock in the evening. My legs were like rubber and Willy seemed in a worse state than I was. Suddenly he said to me "Bert, I've had it. I cannot go any further", and he dropped by the roadside. I could not help him but I stood by him. I told Willy to shut his eyes and pretend to be out for the count. I could see he was past caring. A German guard came up and tried to get Willy moving but to no avail. The guard told me to get moving, and that Willy would be OK. I was not to see Willy again until we met in Stalag 8B.
Such melancholy and depression! Oh, if only I could express my feelings! How low can a man feel? The emptiness, the utter despair, the feeling of being alone.

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Genevieve Tudor of the 大象传媒 Radio Shropshire CSV Action Desk on behalf of Mark Ruffle and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions

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