Dunkirk: The Men They Left Behind Part 5

Dr Peters, the German administrator, quite wisely left the treatment of the wounded to the Allied doctors and medics. However, by leaving one particular German in charge at the college, Dr Peters ensured that the treatment given was not as good as it could have been. Feldwebel Walter Scharping was a middle-aged man from Stettin on the Baltic whose behaviour made life a misery for some of the patients. He stopped some of the wounded from receiving any treatment at all, leaving them in a fly-infested room. The list of his offences did not stop at refusing treatment. He was even seen to punch one patient, and the wife of the local mayor, who was attempting to make arrangements for the Red Cross to a.s.sist the wounded, reported: 'I myself saw him kick one of the prisoners with his feet in the belly and drag him into a cellar . . . On another occasion I saw Scharping beating the interpreter . . . Scharping hit the prisoner with a book on the head.'15 When one prisoner escaped from the hospital and was later returned, Scharping also beat that man, leaving him with severe bruising. The German told civilians he wished he had a machine-gun to make his prisoners march faster. At another hospital this behaviour was matched by a German guard who fired a machine-gun at any prisoner who dared to approach the hospital windows.

In one particularly vicious display, Scharping was seen to beat up a patient and then force French prisoners to join in and complete the beating. Such was his control of the hospital, the Frenchmen were unable to refuse his orders. The German's att.i.tude towards the patients was also shown when the local population attempted to bring in food for the wounded prisoners to supplement their meagre rations. As a result he simply stopped giving the men their rations. Such was the vindictive nature of Scharping that he left bread to rot rather than issue it to his hungry patients.

However, one thing that was clear was that he did not discriminate he treated British, French and Belgian prisoners with the same severity. Others made deliberate efforts to discriminate in their treatment, seeming to attempt to cause resentment and factional disquiet among even the sick and wounded. In one case two wounded Britons were forced to clear out latrines by hand, while French prisoners looked on. If it was disgraceful that the Germans discriminated between wounded soldiers on the grounds of their nationality, it was even worse when French medical staff behaved in the same way towards their allies. One man reported how he and his fellow wounded had their wounds dressed by a French medic. He attempted to get all the British men discharged from hospital while offering impeccable care to his fellow Frenchmen.

One of those who suffered discrimination was Ernest Lister, a member of a supply company of the 51st Division. He was wounded while driving an officer from his company. Lister was unconscious for three days and then awoke in a hospital at Bruyeres, near Epinal. He discovered he had been wounded in both the leg and head and that while unconscious he had undergone trepanation. He was then transferred to St Die. When he arrived at the hospital it was discovered that he was British. Lister later reported the treatment he received from the German officer who received incoming patients: 'His att.i.tude seemed sympathetic. At that time I was wearing the jacket of an old French uniform. The officer asked my nationality in French which I understood sufficiently. When I replied that I was English he threw the charts and photographs away and went on to the next case.'16 While in the hospital Lister received a daily ration of a bowl of barley but since he was too weak to eat he had to be spoon-fed by a fellow patient. With no treatment forthcoming from the Germans, Lister also had to rely on the French prisoners to change the bandages covering his wounds. United Nations reports into war crimes described his treatment as 'remarkable for callousness and discrimination against him'.17 This discrimination was noted by Leslie Shorrock, who at first found himself in a hospital full of French patients. Here he received coffee for breakfast, then mashed potatoes, meat, sausage, carrots, bread and wine during the course of the day. Only after being transferred to the British hospital at Camiers did he notice the paucity of rations.

A report into the behaviour of the Germans at the British military hospital in Boulogne emphasized the 'systematic discrimination against and inhumane treatment of British prisoners of war . . . It cannot be too strongly insisted that the actions of the Germans at the time reflected complete disregard of obligation towards prisoners of war for which, it is submitted, they should be made accountable.'18 As the days and weeks pa.s.sed, military hospitals across France and Belgium began to disgorge the wounded men the Germans considered fit to be transferred to Germany. Though still wrapped in bandages, weak from hunger, and often clad in little more than the ragged remnants of their uniforms, large numbers were forced out on to the roads to begin the march east. One officer captured at Calais spent three months in hospital at Le Touquet prior to being forced to march to Germany. Upon reaching Wesel, he and his fellow marchers were put on a barge that was then pulled down the Rhine by a pleasure steamer.

Not all were allowed so long in hospital to recover. Many of the less seriously wounded men had received little more than cursory treatment before beginning the march. Many of the wounded joined up with the columns of healthy men being led away from the battlefield. Despite his wounded back, Leslie Shorrock spent just ten days in hospital before being sent on the march, joining up with the columns of men captured at St Valery and eventually travelling into Germany by barge. At the end of each day's marching he had to get someone to dress his wounds. Eventually he found a kindly German guard who allowed him to travel the final miles of the journey in a lorry.

As the months pa.s.sed, reports reached Britain, via the neutral countries, of British servicemen in hospitals throughout France. There was a group of sixty Glasgow Highlanders in a hospital at Laval, while at Rennes there were thirty-six wounded men who had lost their uniforms and equipment as a result of the bombing of the town. At Tournai 157 wounded Britons were found in a former Belgian army barracks, while a further 420 were found to be receiving treatment in Lille. The reports also began to record the eventual movement of the wounded soldiers. In November 1940 nearly a thousand were moved from Belgium to Thuringia and Hessen in Germany, leaving just thirty-two men in Belgium who were still too sick to be moved.

Such moves often also took the British medical staff away from the most needy of wounded prisoners. The medics knew they were needed by the men being moved to POW camps but they also knew the sick men being left behind were in desperate need of care. At Camiers, Bill Simpson had to say goodbye to a middle-aged sergeant who had been under his treatment. The man's face was an awful colour, a sure sign that he would not live much longer. As Simpson went to leave the man pleaded with him: 'Don't leave us to die, sergeant. Please stay.'19 But Simpson like so many of his fellow medics had no choice but to leave.

With so many patients departing, life began to change for those doctors who were left behind. By December 1940 doctors in the Rouen area had the pa.s.ses which had given them freedom to leave the hospital confiscated by their guards. It seemed they were no longer being treated as protected personnel, more as prisoners. Protected personnel status ent.i.tled them to repatriation under the Geneva Convention when their duties were over, so it was essential their identification papers were in order.

When Ox and Bucks stretcher-bearer Les Allan had been pulled from the ruins of Hazebrouck his armband and medic's haversack had been taken away, removing any way he had of proving he was a protected person rather than a fighting man. It was to cost him dear. Unable to prove himself a member of the medical staff, he was condemned to five years in the farms and factories of the Reich, working like a slave for the n.a.z.i regime.

While those serving with the Royal Army Medical Corps RAMC were able to prove their status, many others were not so fortunate. Most stretcher-bearers and infantry medical personnel had nothing to show their duties, their paybooks simply indicating their belonging to infantry battalions. Many ambulance drivers could only prove members.h.i.+p of the Royal Army Service Corps and were unable to show evidence they had spent weeks ferrying the b.l.o.o.d.y wrecks of wounded men between the front line, aid posts and hospitals. To avoid any confusion some hospitals made efforts to identify the men. At the 17th General Hospital in Camiers a stamp was made and put into each man's paybook identifying him as 'protected personnel'. At the same hospital efforts were also made to create new paybooks for some of the wounded. The new books gave them a revised religious ident.i.ty, no longer showing them to be Jewish and thus preventing the possibility of discrimination by their captors.

The haphazard nature of the reports reaching the UK regarding those men in hospital placed a great strain upon the families of the wounded. Although the Red Cross did their best to record the names of all the men entering Germany's system of POW camps, pa.s.sing the names on to the British authorities, finding out details of the sick was not so simple. With the men spread across France and Belgium, many had not been officially recorded as prisoners. The family of one man received their first indication of his fate when they received a photograph of him via Spain. It was a relief to see he was alive, but a shock to discover his leg had been amputated. In September 1940 Geoff Griffin's family received notification that he was 'missing, presumed killed'. The army were even preparing to pay out a pension to his family until a letter came via a Red Cross nurse. Relieved by the news, his father ran all the way to the home of Griffin's fiancee to show her the letter. Eventually, the War Office accepted that he was still alive, cancelled the pension and restarted his pay. With the war in France finished, and the majority of wounded prisoners transferred to Germany, the protected personnel had done their duty and now looked forward to going home, ready to continue their healing work. They would soon have a rude awakening. There would be many long years of work ahead of them before they would be heading home.

CHAPTER SIX.

The First Men Home Now, without fully comprehending why, we were on our way back to Blighty.

Joe Sweeney, waiting to board a s.h.i.+p at St Nazaire1

The good, the bad and the indifferent.

British infantryman describing the stragglers heading west across France2 As the last valiant defenders of St Valery were rounded up and marched off into captivity, scattered groups some in pairs, some alone, some in organized groups continued to make good their escape from France. Just as the story of the BEF had not come to a close as the last of the small s.h.i.+ps set sail from the beaches of Dunkirk, neither had the story reached its climax with the defeat of the Highlanders at St-Valery-en-Caux. In the two weeks following 'the miracle of Dunkirk' and a week following the surrender at St Valery, the evacuation of the BEF continued, with over 160,000 Allied soldiers including British, French, Belgians, Poles, Czechs and Canadians escaping via the ports of Le Havre, Cherbourg, La Pallice, Brest and St Nazaire. Some were even ferried along the Loire from Nantes to reach open seas. The confusion of the continued retreat across France, the mayhem of the conflicting political and military orders pa.s.sing between England and France, the chaotic scenes at the evacuation ports, the carnage experienced as German bombers pounded the final boats bound for the UK all combined to create a series of ignominious events that were initially covered up, then eventually ignored, since they failed to fit into the glorious story of the Dunkirk evacuation.

The BEF had two main bases, the northern one at Rennes and the southern one at St Nazaire and Nantes. St Nazaire was the main storage area for ammunition and frozen meat, while the base at Nantes was the centre for motor transport and drivers. In addition there was the medical base at Dieppe. From these base camps and hundreds of smaller centres, thousands of soldiers were rapidly heading away from the battlefields, either in hope of evacuation back to England or simply in the hope that someone, somewhere, might give them orders. Everywhere the front lines were fluid, with one French commander later admitting that every report seemed to be out of date by the time it could be acted upon. It was little wonder that, on the same day that General Fortune reluctantly surrendered his division at St Valery, the French commander General Weygand told his government they should begin negotiations for an armistice. For the soldiers of the BEF, such political machinations were far from their minds. Instead they were occupied with nothing more than personal survival.

For those men of the BEF left behind in France, just as for those who had escaped via Dunkirk, survival meant one thing evacuation. The first of the next wave of evacuations was already under way as the Highlanders were being sacrificed in and around St Valery. As the final pockets of resistance were being mopped up by Rommel's forces, one small group of survivors made their way along the coast to the nearby village of Veules-les-Roses, where they could see a s.h.i.+p offsh.o.r.e. Not knowing if the village was held by enemy, they made their journey by night. When they arrived at Veules they found five groynes three for the French and two for the British from which the evacuation was continuing. From there they were able to embark.

Like a mini-Dunkirk, small boats from the larger boat offsh.o.r.e ferried men to safety. As they waited they were bombed by the Luftwaffe and sh.e.l.led from the direction of St Valery. A few French soldiers comforted themselves by firing rifles at the enemy aircraft. There was little hope of doing any damage but it made them feel safer to know that at least someone was fighting back. When the evacuation was completed, and the small British group had returned to their regiment, they were counted. A total of three officers and seventeen other ranks were all that remained of the entire regiment. The rest had either perished in the battles around Abbeville and St Valery or were already making their way into captivity. In total, more than 2,000 British and 1,000 French soldiers made their escape from Veules-les-Roses.

As some men attempted to escape across the Channel, others tried to escape southwards through France. Most were soon captured but others were successful, reaching the south coast after weeks or months of travelling. Taking to heart his officer's order of 'every man for himself', Gordon Barber and his mate Paddy headed off on their motorcycle.

We'd gone about twenty miles and I told Paddy I was thirsty. So we stopped in the next farm. As we pulled up he said, 'Jesus n.o.bby it's full of Germans!' These b.a.s.t.a.r.ds were all 6ft 4 tall stormtroopers, covered in guns, with grenades stuffed down their boots! They had b.l.o.o.d.y great motorbikes with machine-guns mounted on them. Paddy said, 'Let's get out of here, quick!' As we turned around I said to him, 'Stay where you are!' They had guns pointed at us and I was going to get shot in the back at any moment. I said, 'Let's give up.' These Germans said, 'For you the war is ended' and they meant it.

While Barber and his mate began the march into captivity, others fared better. When the Germans had struck at Abbeville, cutting off men like Eric Reeves and Ken Willats, the rest of the 2/5th Queen's Regiment had escaped across the River Somme. Those who could swim stripped off and swam across, pulling their rifles behind them. The non-swimmers were forced to make the crossing as best they could, using an improvised guide rope made from rifle slings many perished during the crossing. Eventually the survivors reached Cherbourg and returned to England on the SS Vienna on 7 June.

The rail network was soon crowded with slow-moving trains, filled to capacity with soldiers, that snaked their way across northern France. So busy were the railway lines, that most trains moved at little more than walking pace. Soldiers who wanted to urinate were able to jump down, relieve themselves, then run alongside to rejoin their mates.

The problem for the trains was the inevitable attention of the Luftwaffe who roamed, often unchallenged, through the skies above France. Every so often, the men within the trains would hear the roar of engines and the rattle of machine-gun fire as those men stationed on the train roofs to provide anti-aircraft fire opened up. Each time the fighters swooped down, the soldiers would jump from the trains and scatter across the fields in search of cover. The biggest targets for the roaming fighters and bombers were the railway yards where trains carrying both men and supplies inevitably halted. Gunners seldom had time to get their weapons into position to offer covering fire, leaving the trains open to attack, and the soldiers running for cover.

Inevitably, such attacks led to men getting separated from their mates and losing their units. Some would not find them again until they returned home. Men recalled being given orders to do no more than head for Channel ports or to head west until they met someone else who could give them instructions as to where their unit would be re-forming. One man recalled being told to drive by the position of the sun and that if he reached a river crossing that was blown he should simply abandon his truck and swim the river. The same man later found himself directed into Dieppe, riding into the port on the running board of a civilian car. Instead of finding an active military garrison, with a fully functioning port, he discovered a dead town.

Included among the units retreating across France were some that had only recently arrived there. The 2nd Royal Tank Regiment had only sailed to France on 23 May days after men like Eric Reeves and Ken Willats had already been captured. By the time they arrived in Cherbourg it already seemed to many that the battle for France was lost. Boulogne and Calais were under siege, the army was reeling back towards Dunkirk and the alliance with France was faltering. Yet for Fred G.o.ddard, his crewmates 'Dusty' Millar and Bill Meadows, and their commander Lieutenant York or 'Yorkie' as they called him there was no indication of the chaotic situation they were heading into.

G.o.ddard was a regular soldier, who had been born and raised in Haywards Heath. His home life had been miserable, with his family seemingly unconcerned for his welfare. Although his father no longer beat him regularly, by the time G.o.ddard left school he continued to interfere with his life by preventing him getting the apprentices.h.i.+p he wanted and instead sending him to work in a shop. In late 1938 he had been forced to sell his beloved motorcycle to pay for the dental work that had seen seventeen of his teeth extracted. Then, to make matters worse, he was told to attend his old school to be issued with a gas mask. G.o.ddard's memories of his schooldays had been less than positive and it was to be a pivotal moment for the twenty-one-year-old: 'I got up there and looked at the gate. I thought "I'm not going in there" and I just decided to walk on down to the recruiting office. It was a Sat.u.r.day morning and I never went home again. I enlisted in the Royal Tank Regiment.'

The decision to elect for service in the tanks was a simple one. He was told his lack of education would keep him out of the RAF but that he would have plenty of opportunity for technical training in tanks. Furthermore, the recruiting sergeant whom G.o.ddard knew from the local pub thought that at just five feet four inches tall he was the ideal size to fit inside a tank. In many ways he was representative of so many of the army's recruits during peacetime. He just wanted to get away from home and make something of himself. For the first time Fred G.o.ddard felt his life was beginning to settle down. Discipline was strict but it was preferable to the life he had left: 'The training was hard going, you had to parade at 5 a.m. for breakfast. You had to wash and shave. I joined in November and you had to break the ice on the water tubs.' It toughened him up but quickly he got to like it, even the discipline, although he wasn't the 'King and Country' type: 'It wasn't patriotism that drove me into the army. It was my home life that made me join. It was somewhere to go to get away from home.'

By May 1940 G.o.ddard felt he was ready for war. The regiment was well trained and had expected to go to France months earlier. Although they had missed the start of the battle they were determined to play their part in whatever came. For Fred G.o.ddard it would not be his first time fighting Fascism back in the mid-1930s he had taken part in street fights to prevent Oswald Moseley and his Black-s.h.i.+rts from holding rallies in Haywards Heath. Then he and his mates had been successful, forcing Moseley to drive away as local gangs attacked his car. This time the enemy was somewhat more formidable and, as the 2nd Royal Tank Regiment (RTR) approached the front lines, G.o.ddard could only hope for such a success.

The tanks moved north towards the front, first by train and latterly by road. On 25 May they got their first glimpse of the destructive power of modern warfare, pa.s.sing through the already bombed town of Neufchtel. As they detrained they were relieved to see the operation was being covered by RAF fighters, circling in the skies above them. Later the same day orders had come for them to move north towards the River Bresle to support the French 5th Army. In an ominous warning of what was to come, they moved forward with severe thunderstorms breaking above them, soaking the roads and rendering their wireless sets virtually useless. Two days later the regiment saw its first action, losing nine men and five tanks, with a further four tanks lost to mechanical failure.

With the Germans still pressing, Fred G.o.ddard and his fellow 'tankies' soon found themselves falling back from the front. On 2 June they were moved by rail to Louviers, then put into harbour under the cover of woods near Rouen. Having witnessed German air raids on Rouen, the 2nd RTR were given the order to move, advancing to Beauvais before falling back again in face of the advancing Germans. On 8 June Lieutenant York's tank, with Fred G.o.ddard driving, was accompanied by one other tank and a scout car to guard a bridge over the Seine at Gaillon. The next day they rejoined the battalion, having knocked out four enemy tanks, two mortar teams and an artillery battery. It had been a heroic stand but there was no point in remaining to hold the position both the tanks had used up all their ammunition.

The Germans were pressing hard, and the regiment was forced to retreat in hope of escaping. Fred G.o.ddard recalled the scenes as they withdrew: 'n.o.body knew what was happening. We didn't know where we were going, but we got held up by the French cavalry, they were retreating. And they were shooting their horses. We were held up,we couldn't get through. We were given a bearing by our commanding officer and we just went off on our own.' Their tank call sign 'Bolton' became separated from the rest of the regiment and Yorkie decided they should pull over into the cover of a wooded area. The crew were absolutely exhausted and he knew they needed to get some rest and have something to eat. Each man would do a one-hour s.h.i.+ft of guard duty, manning the radio to listen for any further orders. G.o.ddard took the second s.h.i.+ft, sitting on top of the turret listening to the chattering of other tank commanders over the wireless. They knew that the others were not far away, since they remained in contact by radio: 'The louder they were, the closer they were.' However, in the darkness there was no way of finding their comrades, even if they could hear them engaging the enemy about a mile away. It was while listening that he heard the news of the death of one of his closest friends as he talked to the man's tank commander. As G.o.ddard sat there he could hear the enemy guns getting closer and closer.

With one of his colleagues taking over the wireless, G.o.ddard was able to rest. It was not long before he was awoken and told to climb silently into the tank: 'By this time the Germans had come into the wood. I was lying in this ditch it was raining hard, soaking me and I could hear the Germans talking. One of the crew woke me up and I could hear them. It was pitch dark, you could just hear their voices, you couldn't see them and they couldn't see us.'

Safely inside the tank, Lieutenant York gave him the order to contact the commander and inform him of their position. The reply that came through was a shock to the waiting crew: 'They told us to destroy the tank and make our way to the coast on foot.' It was the first indication of the dire situation they had found themselves in. With orders that they should escape any way possible, the four men packed their personal belongings. The job of blowing up the tank was left to Lieutenant York: 'The cruiser tanks had been designed so you could flood them with petrol. We had 200 gallons in the back, so Bill opened the taps and filled it with petrol. Then Yorkie fired a flare down into the tank. That set it on fire. All h.e.l.l was let loose the ammo started blowing up. But we were on our way out of the woods. We were actually pa.s.sing Germans but it was pouring with rain and it was so dark they didn't know who we were. So we walked from there, all the way to the coast.'*

Le Havre, the evacuation point of choice after Dunkirk, was chaotic and fraught with danger. Arriving at the port on 11 June, the drivers of the 7th Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders rammed their trucks into each other to disable them. They were given specific orders that the trucks should not be destroyed by fire so as not to alert the enemy. Frustrated by the seemingly pointless destruction of so many serviceable vehicles, some officers drove trucks westwards in the mistaken belief that they might be able to save the vehicles by embarking them elsewhere.

On 12 June the orders came for those waiting at Le Havre to be evacuated. Orders were clear, the troops were to keep good order there was to be no talking and no smoking. With the seemingly incongruous codename of 'Whoopee', the evacuation commenced. At the Quai d'Escalles the 4th Black Watch boarded SS Amsterdam, while at 2 a.m. the 7th Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders were loaded on to SS Viking and SS Tynewald. As the Black Watch waited at the quayside, they watched RAF Hurricane fighters engage a group of Heinkel bombers. To their relief the fighters shot down three of the menacing bombers. By the morning of the 13th more than 2,000 soldiers had been transported to England. At the same time over 41,000 tons of stores had been transported out of the town by rail, destined for St Nazaire.

Although the relieved remnants of the 51st Highland Division's Ark Force boarded s.h.i.+ps at Le Havre, they were not sent directly home. To their dismay, a decision had been taken that a new BEF was to be formed further west. As a result, 8,000 soldiers were s.h.i.+pped to Cherbourg. With France still fighting, the British government had reached the conclusion that the BEF should be reconst.i.tuted at Cherbourg and continue the fight alongside their French allies. To form the core of this new force the 52nd Lowland Division and the 1st Canadian Division were hastily s.h.i.+pped to Cherbourg. A commander for the re-formed BEF was appointed, Sir Alan Brooke, who had shown himself to be a capable corps commander during the retreat to Dunkirk and was one of the rising stars of the British Army. Arriving at Cherbourg on the evening of the 12th, Brooke soon found himself having to come to terms with the reality of his position. Though he was not convinced of the wisdom of the re-formation of the BEF and of further French plans, the hope was for the British to stall the n.a.z.i advance and retain a foothold in France. Initially expecting to concentrate his forces around Cherbourg, Brooke soon discovered the French planned to form a redoubt in Brittany, using the Atlantic ports to resupply the force. In their minds this would ensure the Allies retained a foothold in continental Europe.

Though short lived, the plan to fight on interrupted the pa.s.sage of the units from Ark Force. Arriving in Cherbourg on the 13th, they were sent to the town of Tourlaville where they were expecting to go back into action. Changing circ.u.mstances would, however, see them returning to Cherbourg the following day. One retreating soldier recalled seeing Canadian gunners advancing rapidly into France, as if eager to reach the front line. They shouted at the retreating troops, asking why they were heading in the wrong direction. Later the same day he saw the same Canadians heading back to Cherbourg, travelling even faster than before.

On Sat.u.r.day 15 June the British took a decision that would shape Anglo-French relations in the years ahead. Brooke received the order that he and his re-formed BEF were no longer under French command. Thus the planned 'Breton Redoubt' was abandoned even before it had begun, being revealed to be nothing more than a fantasy conceived by commanders who were no longer in effective control of their armies. Instead of concentrating in Brittany, the remaining British forces were to continue to fight alongside any French units in their area but their main task was to ensure the escape of as many British troops as possible. It was an order the allowed those troops remaining in France to breathe a collective sigh of relief. It was clear to so many of those in charge on the ground that there was little hope of fighting on. Even before the final evacuation order had been issued, Brooke was convinced any further resistance would be futile. French generals had informed him that organized resistance by French forces had already come to an end. It was clear the available forces were insufficient to resist the Germans any longer.

It was an emotion shared by many others. While in Cherbourg, Lt-Colonel The Lord Rowallan, commanding officer of the 6th Royal Scots Fusiliers, heard of the capitulation of the 51st Highland Division. He wrote that it was an 'inevitable end to attempts for six weeks to hold corps front with a depleted division'. He went on to criticize the failure of organization during the retreat across France: 'Morale of most men in Brigade almost nonexistent. Many first-cla.s.s men sacrificed to indecisive orders or none at all. Staff work throughout incredibly bad.'3 As Brooke knew, if the British attempted any further resistance, the remaining units would share the same awful fate as the Highlanders.

This final evacuation of troops from France was given the codename 'Operation Aerial'. The Royal Navy, under Admiral James, the Commander in Chief Portsmouth, were given command of an operation that saw the British merchant fleet, escaping French naval craft and all manner of commandeered boats, converging on the west coast of France hoping to bring off as many men as possible. Unable to supply sufficient protection craft, James was unable to organize a system of convoys; instead he sent whatever was available troops.h.i.+ps, stores.h.i.+ps, coasters and Dutch barges to rescue whomever they could.

For those units concentrated around Cherbourg, escape was relatively simple. In just two days, a total of over 30,000 troops were evacuated from the port, with the final s.h.i.+ps leaving as the Germans entered the outskirts of the town. For those elsewhere it was a task that would involve much exhaustion and heartbreak. As the German Army rolled across France, Allied soldiers found themselves desperately travelling from port to port in search of escape. Some units started off attempting to reach Le Havre, only to find it already occupied, then headed for Cherbourg only to discover that too had fallen. One group from a petrol company in the 44th Division, who had been on the beaches at Dunkirk before, realizing they were unlikely to get away, moved south. Somehow they slipped through the thinly held German lines and were eventually evacuated via St Nazaire. For many such small groups, it became a desperate game of cat and mouse as they tried to keep one step ahead of the enemy.

Despite the lucky escape of Ark Force from Cherbourg, not all among its ranks were evacuated from the northern ports. At midnight on 11 June, the 17th Field Regiment, Royal Artillery, whose gunners had fought so hard, and suffered so much, alongside the Highlanders during the battles between the Rivers Somme and Bresle, were ordered to move south-west towards Nantes. The order was a great relief; just twelve hours earlier they had been ordered to fight to the last man and the last round. But with the fate of the Highlanders sealed it seemed pointless to sacrifice anyone else. Travelling via Caen and Avranches, the remnants of the regiment arrived in Nantes four days later. On the 15th they were told that since France had capitulated they had '48 hrs to clear out!'4 In fact, there would be two more days before the French requested an armistice, but to the men on the ground the message was clear the front had crumbled and escape remained the only viable option. Receiving such blunt orders, there was nothing they could do but head, along with thousands of others, towards St Nazaire.

Many soldiers found their flight hampered by the lost and leaderless, some of whom both British and French seemed to have given up all hope of escape. Some towns seemed to be crowded with drunken gangs, all fully armed and many ill-disposed towards any displays of authority. One soldier recalled being sent into a town to work as a security guard at a gentlemen's club. The owners were prepared to pay armed British soldiers to prevent intrusions by unwanted elements. The manager had come to the arrangement with a sergeant at the local British base, who provided guards in exchange for payment. The same soldier later found himself asked to escort a bus driven by a nun, carrying girls from a Catholic boarding school from Rouen to Argentan.

Even those men who did their best to remain disciplined were caught up in the chaos. Most found that whatever money they had been carrying soon ran out. Those who were unwilling to steal food discovered that, in order to eat, they could offer their services to cafe-owners and do the was.h.i.+ng up in return for a meal.

Food became the question on every man's lips when he reached a base or checkpoint. When one man asked a sergeant where he could get food he was told to hold out his cap as a corporal dished out raisins by hand from a sack. Most resorted to the time-honoured military tradition of foraging. Effectively, that meant scrounging from civilians, searching abandoned farms, picking fruit from orchards and vegetables from fields or stealing. Some attempted to shoot rabbits, only to discover that the impact of a .303 bullet left little worth cooking. One group used their lorry as a battering ram to smash down the wall of a French Army store, only to discover their loot consisted of box after box of tinned baked beans.

Fred G.o.ddard had originally been told to head for Cherbourg and he and his crewmates had set out across Normandy on foot to reach the port. Relieved to be moving westwards, they also knew the German guns were getting closer: We never went as the crow flies sometimes we had to double-back on ourselves 'cause the Germans had got in front of us. We just walked. One night we went into a farmhouse, but the French were very wary of us because lots of Germans had been infiltrated into France dressed as squaddies. But this one family took us in, they were really good to us we'd only asked for water for a wash and a drink but they gave us a meal. I think that was the start of the French resistance. The next day they took us down to the Seine in a van and set us on our way.

Although the four men walked for what seemed like days on end, they did get another opportunity for mechanized transport. Finding an abandoned French tank that appeared to still be in working order, they commandeered it and made their way in the direction of Le Havre. They were soon stopped by a French officer who, though perplexed to see the Englishmen driving a French tank, explained that they had no chance of reaching Le Havre. Instead, he told them, they should join with him in fighting a rearguard action on the banks of the Seine. They prepared positions beside a demolished bridge, joining with a mixed bag of British and French stragglers. G.o.ddard's crew checked their guns and waited: The Germans came in from the east with lorries and infantry. They got to the river and we were firing at the lorries. I was surprised at how much firing there was from our side and quite a lot of damage was inflicted on them. They must have been prepared for a rearguard and for the bridge to be blown. They brought up several tanks to return fire. The next thing they were launching pontoon boats filled with infantry. Most of the rearguard were now retreating on foot. Yorkie gave the order to Bill to turn around and get moving. We headed away west. It would take the Germans some time to build a temporary bridge and to get their tanks across. That French officer had done a good job.5 It was not unusual for troops of all nationalities to get mixed up during the retreat. Despite the efforts of most men to remain in groups of fellow countrymen, inevitably the marching columns became mixed. Some men recalled being in groups that seemed to be filled with all nationalities. Despite their governments having surrendered, soldiers from the armies of Belgium and the Netherlands joined the British and French as they retreated. Rather than accept captivity they had elected to seek sanctuary in England, in the hope of rejoining their army if it re-formed. Also on the roads were soldiers from Czechoslovakia and Poland, men who had escaped from their homelands when the n.a.z.is had occupied them. They had been formed into units by the French and, like the Belgians and Dutch, were looking for another base from which to continue the struggle for freedom. Soldiers whose earlier experience of war had been in the company of their fellow nationals were shocked to see so many different uniforms and hear so many languages as they headed west.

Making good their escape, Fred G.o.ddard's tank soon ran out of petrol and they were once more forced out on to the roads on foot. The alternative was to give up and go into captivity, a fate none of them relished: We had no idea what was happening from day-to-day. What was going through my head? I don't know. It's surprising, I never thought about being killed. We kept off the main roads because of the refugees and other soldiers of all nationalities were on the roads but they were being machine-gunned by Stukas. So we walked through woods and over fields. We kept ourselves to ourselves, just the four of us, we'd decided to do that at the beginning. We washed and shaved in streams, fortunately it was June so the weather was warm. I was exhausted. But we kept our spirits up because the crew remained together. We were used to each other. But we got so tired I was sleepwalking half the time! I was lucky, I had a couple of pairs of socks. Each day I'd wash one pair out in a stream, then hang them round my neck as we were walking, so as they'd dry. Changing me socks as often as I could really helped me. Also, we were still wearing our tank overalls, rather than battledress it wasn't very comfortable. Luckily we still had our greatcoats and wrapped ourselves up in them to sleep at night. We thought we'd get away at Cherbourg, back where we'd first landed in France, but the Germans got there before us.

The discovery that the Germans had advanced to Cherbourg came as a shock to them. At first they spotted a military policeman directing traffic on a road heading in the direction of the town. Lieutenant York observed the policeman through his binoculars and casually informed his crew that they were right, he was an MP, the only problem was that he was a German. There was nothing for it; they turned around and resigned themselves once more to finding an alternative port. Fortunately they discovered they were not the only troops heading away from Cherbourg: 'That was the only time we got a lift, we were picked up by an army lorry. This bloke had been landed at Cherbourg but he'd only just got out before the Germans arrived.' Gladly accepting a lift, G.o.ddard and his mates climbed on board and were finally able to get some rest.

As the remnants of the BEF some in fully functional units, others in ragged bands of stragglers, many more hitching lifts in any vehicle heading west converged on France's western ports, the final evacuations got under way. There was a sense of dreadful urgency in the need to escape. One anti-aircraft battery arrived at Brest pulling two guns behind a Ford tractor they had commandeered from a French farm. On 17 June the inevitable happened and the French capitulated, with Marshal Petain broadcasting an appeal for the French to lay down their arms while an armistice was negotiated with the victorious Germans. This was the culmination of the process of collapse that had been unfolding before the British politicians and generals. Britain's abandonment of the planned Breton Redoubt and the removal of the BEF from French command were the result of the unshakable belief that France would capitulate. For all the later French complaints about betrayal, the British action had saved 160,000 men from captivity or death.

Despite the end of official Allied unity and the appeal for the French to surrender, many among the French forces continued to work alongside the British to complete the evacuation. At Brest the French attempted to form two defensive lines, the first in an arc 100 miles (thirty kilometres) from the port, the second forty miles (twelve kilometres) away. The British reached the port in large numbers and were soon evacuated, with most having safely departed by 17 June. As in the other evacuations, vast amounts of material had to be abandoned in order to make s.p.a.ce on board s.h.i.+ps to carry the men. One artillery officer, sent ahead by his commanding officer to find out about arrangements for evacuation, was told they should destroy all their weapons and then proceed into the port by lorry. They were forced to destroy the six 3.7-inch heavy anti-aircraft guns and four Bofors guns that they had lovingly towed all the way from the Pas de Calais. The officer who gave the order was blunt, there was no time to be sentimental, if they did not destroy the guns and arrive in the port ready to embark by nine that evening, they would most likely end up as prisoners of war. When the artillery officer protested that they had not pulled the guns 400 miles only to blow them up, he was given written orders.

By the morning of the 18th over 28,000 British and Allied troops had disembarked in English ports. The operation was carried out despite the attentions of the Luftwaffe, who endeavoured to mine the waters around Brest. Hard-working French minesweepers kept the channels open, allowing the final s.h.i.+ps including those carrying the French gold reserves to escape. With the evacuation complete, Royal Navy sh.o.r.e parties began the destruction of essential port facilities and the deliberate firing of the remaining stocks of petrol, causing a spiralling plume of thick black to obscure the skies above the departing s.h.i.+ps. The Germans entered the town on the evening of 19 June.

The situation at Brest was repeated at other ports in western France; 21,474 soldiers were rescued from St Malo, another 2,000 escaped from La Pallice and around 19,000 were picked up at smaller ports. However, the busiest evacuation port was St Nazaire from whose quaysides over 57,000 soldiers were evacuated. It was also the scene of the greatest disaster of the entire evacuation from France.

From the 16th onwards the port of St Nazaire became crammed with soldiers and civilians all hoping for a pa.s.sage out of a country that was obviously on the brink of defeat. Even before the troops entered the town they were struck by the chaos. As the 17th Field Regiment Royal Artillery reached the outskirts of the town on 17 June they were given orders for the destruction of their vehicles. The vehicles were soon rendered unserviceable. However, they were told the guns should be retained and manhandled to the docks for embarkation. When they arrived at the quayside they were informed the guns could not be loaded and they too should be destroyed. Unable to wreck the guns effectively, the gunners left them on the quayside with just their dial sights removed.

Such were the scenes when the exhausted Fred G.o.ddard and his mates arrived at the port. Outside the town they found field after field of British vehicles, all abandoned by the escaping troops. The confusion over what the Royal Navy could transport back to England prevented large numbers of vehicles and vast stocks of essential war materials from being rescued. Instead hundreds of brand-new vehicles and guns, and millions of rounds of desperately needed ammunition, were abandoned in France. After his return, one soldier wrote home: 'don't say anything about it. . . the papers don't say anything about the cars and tanks which were left in France, it must have cost millions. But as I say, keep it dark, or I will get shot, and that's not very pleasant is it?'6 As Fred G.o.ddard pa.s.sed the field of vehicles he watched some men break away from the column and defy orders to take motorcycles, deciding it would be more comfortable to ride into town rather than walk. Elsewhere soldiers fired rounds from anti-tank guns directly into the cylinder blocks of vehicles as a spectacular way of disabling them. Fred G.o.ddard was by now content to walk the final few miles: There were brand-new lorries and staff cars but all we cared about was that as long as we got away we'd live to fight another day. That's what actually happened! We lost Yorkie about five miles outside the port. We were sitting on this bank beside the road I was changing my socks again and some other officers were there. They said we were going to form up in threes and march into town. Of course that was only any good until the Stukas started up! So Yorkie was at the front of the column with the other officers. Then we lost Dusty as well. They were asking for volunteers to blow up and wreck all these vehicles outside the town. But they only wanted reservists, not regular soldiers. They wanted all the properly trained blokes to get home. It was a relief for me I said to Dusty, 'It's a relief to get away from you.' But then he actually got home before me and Bill did! But it was a tremendous sense of relief thinking we might actually get away.

On the first day of the evacuation over 12,000 troops were evacuated and during the night vast amounts of stores were removed from the port, with the RAF patrolling the skies above. Yet in the days that followed the situation in St Nazaire became increasingly fraught, first as the French surrender was announced and then as visits by the Luftwaffe became increasingly frequent. As queues of anxious soldiers snaked their way along the quaysides looking desperately out to sea for the small boats ferrying men out to the larger s.h.i.+ps offsh.o.r.e they were besieged by civilians hoping to secure a place for themselves on whatever vessel might be leaving.

Though this evacuation saved large numbers from death or captivity, there were other activities that were less heroic and were subsequently swept under the carpet, for they hardly showed the British Army in a positive light. One of those who later recorded his disgust at the behaviour of some of the soldiers was Sergeant S.D. Coates, an instructor from the army's Small Arms School. It was not until more than sixty years had pa.s.sed that he wrote of his experiences, believing it was a shameful episode of which he was not very proud and one which he believed should not be given much publicity.

Having left Chanzy barracks near Le Mans, Coates eventually reached the holiday resort of p.o.r.nichet, outside St Nazaire. There, attempts were made to organize the a.s.sembled stragglers into ad hoc battalions, with Coates put in charge of a platoon. On 15 June they were told to leave the camp as it was being evacuated. Coates soon became disillusioned with the behaviour of the British troops following the announcement of their impending departure: 'large numbers rampaged through the camp, looting the NAAFI stores and anything else to hand and respirators were being discarded from their haversacks to make room for looted cigarettes, beer etc. It was a scene I had not imagined possible. I was appalled and disgusted.'7 At another depot near St Nazaire the soldiers discovered a train carrying cases of spirits, including army issue rum. Soon gangs of drunken men were seen running riot through the camp. It seemed their frustration with the defeat, retreat and chaos of the BEF was firing their fury. Angered by the failure to provide transport home, the mood of the drunks mostly still fully armed seemed set to get violent. It was only the quick thinking of one soldier that prevented a complete breakdown of discipline. Seeing an officer failing to control the crowds, he suggested they should set fire to the straw that had been used to pack the spirits in the wagons. The resulting fire spread quickly, consuming the first wagon then spreading to its neighbours. It had the desired effect of driving the drunks away from the spirits but had one unexpected result. The fire caught a wagon being used to transport ammunition, that soon began exploding, sending bullets whizzing across the railway yards, driving back the crowds.

The following day they marched to St Nazaire, the warm weather soon resulting in the column leaving greatcoats, blankets, equipment, helmets and even rifles in their wake. French civilians scavenged at the roadsides, picking up whatever the troops abandoned. A few, Coates included, marched in full kit. Exhausted, he kept marching, preferring the exertion of carrying the kit rather than the shame of abandoning it.

At St Nazaire the weather was glorious, with civilians strolling around watching as the troops queued to be ferried out by destroyers to the waiting pa.s.senger s.h.i.+ps, the Georgic and HMT Lancastria. Despite how close salvation seemed to be, Coates continued to be shocked by the behaviour of the soldiers. As the air was rent by the noise of explosions, he watched the queuing troops flee in panic, knocking aside civilians as they ran for safety. Waiting for transit out to the Georgic, Coates watched as one woman was pushed aside and her child's pram was sent cras.h.i.+ng to the ground. He also saw British soldiers cowering on the malodorous floor of a urinal: 'I think then I was almost ashamed of the uniform I wore.'8 From 5 a.m. on Monday the 17th, British troops began to load into the Lancastria. Among them was Charles Raybould, a corporal in the 2nd Sherwood Foresters. The Foresters had fought a desperate fifty-mile rearguard action, in which soldiers had abandoned their c.u.mbersome belongings, such as greatcoats and blankets, leaving behind anything that weighed them down and delayed their flight. All they cared about was clinging on desperately to their weapons and ammunition, knowing they might be called to fight at any time. As they retreated it seemed that discipline had begun to disappear, with soldiers calling their NCOs by their Christian names and vice versa. One corporal was spotted irreverently saluting a pig as it trotted past the marching men. Men were answering back to the NCOs and, it seemed to Raybould, had started to display a civilian outlook as they realized they were getting closer to home.

As they lined up along the quays, Raybould was struck by the feeling that it would soon be a case of 'every man for himself'. With discipline at best strained, and with soldiers from all manner of units in particular, the Pioneer Corps, Royal Army Ordnance Corps and Royal Engineers packing the port, it seemed that chaos was waiting to sweep the area. When one corporal tried to get Bren gunners to set up their guns in antic.i.p.ation of an attack from the air, the men ignored his orders and openly threatened to dump him into the harbour. Despite such open insolence, every time enemy aircraft appeared above the town all manner of weapons opened up at them. Ack-ack guns fired rapid bursts into the skies, with the explosions of their sh.e.l.ls accompanied by the steady thudding of Bren guns and the rattle of rifle fire. Exhausted infantrymen frantically filled magazines with their remaining rounds, pa.s.sing them to the hard-pressed Bren gunners.

The scenes were watched by Fred G.o.ddard: It was like a miniature Dunkirk all h.e.l.l was let loose. The Stukas had got it to themselves there were no English planes anywhere. We made for this s.h.i.+p but the Stukas were dive bombing and they got it just before we got to it. A Stuka dived down. I thought he was going to crash on to the s.h.i.+p but he pulled up and dropped his bombs. One of those I saw go straight down the funnel. There was a terrible explosion. I'd never seen anything like it the s.h.i.+p went straight down so quick. But as we came back from where the s.h.i.+p sunk we spotted a 'coaler'. The skipper had a loudhailer and he said he was coming in but he wasn't going to tie up. But if anyone wanted to they could jump on board as he went past! So Bill and me jumped it was quite a long way down. There were about forty men on the deck of this boat. The captain couldn't take any more. Some men that jumped from the harbour missed the deck. One or two we managed to pull on board, but the rest just sank straight down. The skipper told us, 'I can't take any more men. Don't pull anybody else out.' These days people forget anything else had happened after Dunkirk.

G.o.ddard was one of the lucky ones; he had made it safely to the port and found a boat that had avoided the attentions of the Luftwaffe. Others were not so fortunate. At St Nazaire the hopeful troops soon became embroiled in one of the greatest maritime disasters of the entire war. Despite the bombing, the queues at St Nazaire gradually moved forward, the men making their way slowly towards the boats waiting to ferry them to safety. Joe Sweeney was one of the servicemen who, along with 200 other men, arrived at the HMT Lancastria by tug. Upon boarding he was pleasantly surprised by the orderly nature of the arrangements that had been made for the soldiers. He gave his name, rank and number to a waiting seaman and in return received a card allocating him to sleeping quarters and telling him when to go for meals. In total, the sailors handed out almost 6,000 of these cards. The Lancastria had once been a liner with the prestigious Cunard company. As a result, the comfort offered in the saloons and restaurants was in stark contrast to the conditions the troops had experienced in the weeks retreating across France. The luckier ones found themselves in the First Cla.s.s dining rooms, at tables laid with crisp white linen and gleaming gla.s.ses and water jugs, as they sat down to a meal of sausages, mashed potatoes and coffee. Yet it was little more than an illusion of civilization and they were soon reminded of the reality of their situation.

In the mid-afternoon the Lancastria was subjected to a vicious aerial a.s.sault. German planes machine-gunned the decks, sending troops running for cover while bombers aimed their deadly cargo on the easy target of the large liner. Some of the soldiers were ordered on to the decks, armed with their rifles, to fire on the attacking planes. Their brave efforts were wasted as the bombers soon gained the upper hand.

RAF Sergeant Wally Hewitt had just made his way on to the decks when the planes began to target the Lancastria. He took cover as a bomber appeared above them: The gunners on board turned their fire on it. While they were firing another bomber dived down from the rear. There was a rush of men for cover. I was knocked on to my knees in the doorway I was near. I did not see the plane but knew it had dived low as the bomb's whistle lasted only about three seconds. It was followed by a terrific crash and then a series of roars from down below. A sheet of flame seemed to strike me in the face. I was lifted up then crashed down again. I was stunned for a minute. I then forced my way clear of a number of bodies that were on me.9 Having bandaged his wounded brow and aided a soldier with a broken shoulder whom he lowered into the sea Hewitt found a lifebelt and swam off from the already submerged deck.

Also on board the Lancastria was Charles Raybould, whose own luck had sufficed during the Luftwaffe's attacks on the port. He and his mates were given tickets allocating them s.p.a.ce in a saloon at the front of the s.h.i.+p. The relief they felt as they settled down in expectation of returning home did not last long. Raybould was standing in a queue to get a drink of lemonade when a bomb struck: 'A lightning infra-red blast skittled us like ninepins. I felt as if a very large blow lamp had been held at my head. Half-conscious I forced my trembling legs over inert bodies, groaing bodies . . . my tortured lungs were shrivelling fast in the oxygenless air . . .'10 The searing blast left Raybould in no doubt that the situation was desperate and he immediately began to look for a way out: 'men were babbling s.n.a.t.c.hes of prayer like frightened children in the dark. Dying voices called the names of their loved ones. Men became animals, fighting and snarling towards the small aperture of light which would feed and cool their dying but burning lungs . . . Screams came up from a large crater which could be seen in the light.'11 Those on the decks were stunned by the bombs. One dazed soldier recalled how he could feel debris cras.h.i.+ng down on to his steel helmet. As the noise subsided he raised his head but could see little but a red-hot glow that pierced through the clouds of smoke and dust. Within seconds he moved backwards, away from the heat, and noticed crowds of soldiers jumping overboard. The soldier, though badly burned, realized there was no time to waste and joined the jumping men.

At the stern the situation was very different from these chaotic scenes at the epicentre of the blast. As the bomb struck, Joe Sweeney didn't even realize what had happened. To him it seemed like another close shave. Then suddenly the s.h.i.+p lurched to port. This was an obvious signal that something was wrong and he decided to leave the saloon where he had previously bedded down. The corridors were packed with soldiers, all attempting to reach the decks with rifles still slung over their shoulders and packs firmly on their backs. As the crowds attempted to find their way through the narrow corridors, the lights went out and the air was filled with the shouts of frightened men. Again the s.h.i.+p lurched, this time to starboard. Water began to flow into the corridors, sending the men charging towards the port escape routes. Sweeney, spotting an opening in the crowds, dashed up the starboard stairs but was soon followed by others who had also sensed an opportunity to escape.

Charles Raybould was lucky; there was no hesitation from the men at the front of the boat who had so narrowly escaped the bomb's ferocious blast. Nor was there any delay as they made their way to the decks. Realizing the s.h.i.+p was doomed, soldiers began stripping off their uniforms and diving overboard. Elsewhere he noticed a young padre descending into the depths of the s.h.i.+p, telling those who tried to stop him that he had to do G.o.d's work. Men watched in disbelief, realizing it was suicide to go down into the chaos below. While the padre was gripped by faith, others abandoned all hope. Knowing the s.h.i.+p was sinking, one non-swimmer shot himself rather than facing a slow death by drowning.

Raybould joined the crowds who had decided to risk the waters in hope of swimming away before the Lancastria slipped beneath the waves. Diving overboard, he hit the water and screamed in pain. The bomb blast had torn his hair from his scalp, blistering the skin. Now the salt water seared his wounds, leaving him in agony. Accompanied by a sailor, he swam for safety, urged on by his companion telling him they needed to get as far from the s.h.i.+p as possible or else they would be dragged down as the s.h.i.+p went under. Reaching a safe distance, he watched as crowds of soldiers continued to leave the stricken s.h.i.+p. As he bobbed in the waves, he could see small figures still clinging to the immense steel sides of the s.h.i.+p. Other survivors watched in admiration as a Bren gunner continued firing at the attacking aircraft in the final moments before the Lancastria disappeared below the surface.

One of those who found himself clinging on to the Lancastria was Joe Sweeney. Along with hundreds of others, Sweeney had reached the relative safety of the deck. No longer trapped below decks, Sweeney faced another terrifying dilemma he did not know how to swim. Initially he was not unduly concerned, believing that the s.h.i.+p's demise would be a lengthy process. However, it was sinking rapidly by the prow, with the stern beginning to rise from the water. He had to act quickly or be trapped as the rising stern made jumping increasingly dangerous. Around him he noticed men throwing anything that could float into the water, in hope that there would be something to hold on to once they had dived overboard.

Looking down into the water, Sweeney could see hundreds of heads bobbing up and down, some being struck by the chairs and tables being hurled through the air, ostensibly to save them. Men were seen sinking under the surface, never to appear again. It seemed that the chaos of the situation had engulfed Sweeney. The air was filled by the hissing of steam escaping through pipes, the banging of the anti-aircraft guns and the screams of the soldiers. For Sweeney this was a pivotal moment in his war: There are times in one's life, when stock must be taken; when one weighs up what has been accomplished; when one dreams of future achievements. One searches for the meaning of life. For me, this was one of those moments. I pondered; I wondered. I wondered why innocent women, children and old folk had to endure the privations and sufferings of total war . . . My whole life seemed to scuttle by in a flash. I asked myself whether this was my last day on earth. Alas! I arrived at no solutions at all.12 All he knew was that he needed to get into the water to escape the sinking liner. Watching as men jumped, some sinking into the depths and others bobbing back to the surface, he realized he was not alone. Others were hesitating, each man wrapped up in his own personal whirl of emotions. Around him some men began singing mainly popular military songs that were soon taken up by the ma.s.s of soldiers still on board the stricken s.h.i.+p. It was now or never. Sweeney removed his jacket and boots, hiding his jacket in the desperate hope that the boat might not sink and that he might be able to retrieve it later. Than came the moment of truth.

Unable to wait any longer, he ran towards the rails and jumped, hoping to get as far away as possible from the s.h.i.+p's side. His efforts were wasted and instead he slid down the steel sheets of the s.h.i.+p's side plating towards the water. As he slid he could feel the rough, rusty metal scratching at his naked back. He came to a halt on the casing of the propeller shaft, where he soon realized he was not alone. Around him were a number of soldiers some fully clothed, arguing that their uniforms would keep them warm in the water, others naked, fearing that the heavy serge uniforms would drag them under. Still some forty feet above the waves, the men solved their dilemma in the soldier's favourite way they lit cigarettes. The group sat there smoking and contemplating their dilemma until the s.h.i.+p suddenly lurched. Abandoning their cigarettes, the men began throwing themselves into the water. Sweeney, forgetting his modesty, tore off his trousers and jumped: 'When I hit the water, I seemed to go down and down for an eterni